


Animus

by hit_the_books



Series: Root of Harmony [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Canonical Character Death, Dean in Panties, Dom Castiel, Double Penetration, Drugs, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Fear of Discovery, Fear of Flying, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt Sam, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Sub Dean, Sub Sam, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Switch Sam, Switching, Team Dean's Red Ass, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Castiel, Touring, Voyeur Dean, Voyeurism, Whump, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 88,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Animus are about to kick-off a countrywide tour. But as the music starts to take center stage, Sam, Dean and Cas will find it hard to keep their lives on track.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Release

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and tags, warnings and summary are likely to be added to/changed. However, the underage tag will not be involved.

Sweat soaked black t-shirt clinging to his back, Sam Winchester looks over the glittering City of Angels and prays for a breeze. Instead, Sam gets Castiel Novak at his back and warm breath at his neck, adding to the heat burning inside Sam from four glasses of champagne.

“You know we are at a party, right? And that it is expected that we party?” Cas asks, mouth by Sam’s right ear.

Letting out a long breath, Sam quirks his face towards Castiel’s, taking in his stubble and brilliant blues. “Just needed some air.”

“Dean’s looking for you.”

“I know.” Sam pushes his hair behind his ears, cowlicks curling around them.

Sighing, Castiel turns to face Sam and leans against the bannister running around the rooftop patio. “You know you’d be a lot cooler if you head back into the party, right?” Castiel’s white button down shirt is almost completely open, perspiration dripping down the intricate ink that covers his chest.

Laughing, Sam shakes his head and smiles at Castiel. “Cas… why do you care if I’m in there or out here?”

“Because we have just released our first album and I want you to bask in the praise that is being showered upon us.”

Sam licks his lips and angles his face down. Out here, they are alone in one of the biggest cities in the world. The lights of the night frame Castiel, a halo around his head, beauty and passion in every curve of his mouth, line of his jaw. Leaning towards Cas, Sam gets in his drummer’s space, lips a mere inch apart. It’s one thing to release that tricky first album, another to do something about ten years of longing. Enact upon stolen touches and glances, and late night conversations with Dean. But Sam had already decided that tonight was going to be the night.

“Maybe I’ll only accept praise from those I care about. Lot of fakes in there, Cas. But you,” Sam’s lips are almost on Castiel’s, “you’re anything but.”

“Sam… you’ve been—”

Castiel is cut off as Sam presses their lips together. It’s light at first, tentative and unsure, but then Cas presses back and hooks his right hand on the back of Sam’s neck. Pulling Sam in, making him open his mouth—and Sam can’t help give himself to Cas. Strong, drummer’s hands fist Sam’s shirt and he holds onto Cas by the empty belt loops on his black jeans.

“So this is where you two have got—” Dean calls, but stops. Cas breaks away from Sam and they both look over to Dean, unnecessary guilt written on their faces. Despite the heat, Dean looks cool enough in his black t-shirt and open red shirt.

“Dean, we were—” Cas starts, but doesn’t get to finish.

“Sammy, you asked him?” Dean approaches the two of them.

Sam looks down at the patio slabs. “Not yet.”

“Go on...” Dean prompts.

“Cas, I… I want you…  _with us_.” This was not quite how Sam had dreamed he’d propose doing something that had been on his mind since high school. In the time since he’d turned eighteen, the three of them had only gotten closer.  _It makes sense, Cas, please see that._

Taking a step towards the two of them, Dean looks with concern between the two people at the center of his life. “Cas do you…?”

Head whipping from side to side as he gauges the looks on the brothers’ faces, Cas gives a controlled smile and licks his lips. “I’ve always known.”

Dean huffs out a nervous laugh and Sam reaches a hand out to his brother and grips his right shoulder tight. Steadying Dean, Sam looks to Cas, worried that he’s going to call them sick or worse.

“How long have you known?” Sam asks, voice only just loud enough to be heard above the traffic below.

“Since I’ve known the two of you. I would have to be a pretty unobservant best friend if I didn’t at least notice the way you two to look at each other. And since we… started touring you’ve not exactly been private about this when it’s just me around,” Cas states.

“You’ve heard us?” Dean asks, aghast.

“Yes.”

 _Cas isn’t running for the hills_. Meeting Castiel’s gaze, Sam asks, “Does it… freak you out?”

“No. But…” Castiel pauses, words failing him.

“But?” Sam prompts.

“I’ve always wanted a part of this. Wanted to be with you two. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been more than brothers to me.” Cas looks at them, confidence growing. “If you’ll have me, I want us to be more...”

***

 _“Want us to be more.”_  Castiel’s words echo in Sam’s head. Los Angeles breathes below Sam, glittering, warm and so very bright. Standing on the same rooftop as he did a year ago, Sam tries to understand how he deserves to be so fortunate. He’s wearing a different black t-shirt this time, but again it’s stuck to his back. Black ink, in varying shades, trails up his right arm, the sleeve tattoo recently completed. A piece of Sam’s armor.

Staring down at the imagery on his arm for a second, Sam marvels at the intricacy that Pamela had worked with the ink. A scene of heaven and hell, man caught in the middle. Bela Talbot had started asking questions about it and that was when Sam had headed out onto the patio.

Behind him he can hear a low, bouncing bass line—his bass line—as their band’s second album pumps out and fills the launch party. Sam doesn’t need to turn to see select fans dancing and swaying to the music of Animus. Not that he wasn’t proud of their second album, “Root of Harmony”, but he found its heavier tones more jarring than their self-titled first album.

“Sammy?” Dean calls for him alongside a snatch of music at full blast.

“Is he out here?” Castiel asks, voice nearly drowned by their music.

Gripping the banister, Sam looks over his shoulder and smiles at Dean and Cas who hardly look a day different from a year ago. “Sorry, needed some air.”

“You said the exact same thing the last time we were here.” Cas reaches Sam’s side and leans against the railing just like he did twelve months earlier.

Taking a chance, Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and kisses the side of his neck. “Too many groupies this time or are you planning on proposing this year?”

Cheeks coloring, Sam ducks out of Dean’s grip and fails at hiding his embarrassment. “No. It’s just… Talbot was asking questions.”

Dean rolls his eyes and Cas gives a confused look before understanding dawns on his face.

“You don’t need to answer Talbot. We could have security remove her,” Cas suggests.

Shaking his head, Sam sighs. “No that’ll just give her more to write about on that stupid site of hers.”

“What was she asking about? I’m gonna assume it’s not us.” Dean stands beside Cas, eyes flicking towards the sliding doors that lead back to the party.

A hollow laugh works its way out of Sam and he sighs. “She asked about the album art… the intimacy that we seemed to share between the three of us in the photo we chose. But then she pointed to my arm and started asking about my tattoo.”

Firm, knowing glances pass between Dean and Cas. The two of them step away from the banister and start heading towards the patio doors.

“What are you doing?” Sam calls after them.

“Talbot’s not staying,” Dean answers before being swallowed up by the party.

Sam doesn’t move, he stays where he is and looks at his ink, twisting his right arm to look at his wrist. Pamela did a great job covering the worst of the damage he’d done to himself.

Dean and Cas had done a great job at getting to him in time.

***

“Excuse me, but Gabriel said I could be here for the entire duration of the launch party,” Bela simpers in her ridiculously posh British accent as Benny leads her out of the top floor penthouse.

Dean shrugs and gives Bela a “do I look like I care what my PR guy said?” stare and presses the elevator button. Just as the elevator arrives, Dean hands Bela a CD copy of “Root of Harmony”.

“Enjoy.” Dean turns on his heels and storms away, leaving Benny to take care of the rest of this unpleasant business.

Rejoining the party proper, Dean smirks at the stylish photography lining the walls. All black and white, revealing images of women and men in fetish gear. Each image was professionally shot by the same man who had shot the cover image of their album. Michael Smith had a keen eye and even keener tastes. And always a warm welcome for the Winchesters and Novak.

“Dean, did you just have Bela Talbot escorted off the premises?” Asks a familiar voice. Dean turns and grins at Balthazar Milton, their manager and thorn in Gabriel’s side. Balthazar doesn’t do suits and is dressed in a short sleeved henley, leather jacket, well loved jeans and boots.

“You know, I think I just did.”

Balthazar claps Dean on the back. “Good, now maybe I can actually have some fun.” Dean’s manager walks away and heads towards a group of women that Dean prays are all over the age of eighteen.

“Yo, ask them for ID!” Dean calls after Balthazar and gets the finger for his troubles.

A hand lands on Dean’s shoulder and he turns to find Meg, brown curls falling everywhere. “Clarence just asked if we could roll in ten and head back to hotel so you better say your goodbyes.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean stalks off, calling over his shoulder, “Fine, I’ll go do that!”

It doesn’t take him long to track down Michael. The short haired photographer is holding court in his study, a sea of black, purples, dark reds and greens before him. Young men and women hanging on his every word as he takes them through the portfolio on his walls. Dean waves a hand to get Michael’s attention and his audience follows their host’s gaze.

“Dean!” Gasps one young woman, straight brown hair streaked with black and red. Dean treats that particular fan with a pained smile, making a note to remind Benny that Becky Rosen is not to be allowed into small scale events like this.

Michael powers past the fans and leads Dean back out the room.

“Say hi to Sam for me!” Becky calls after Dean and he grits his jaw rather than say anything.

Reaching his huge kitchen, Michael opens his refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water. There’s no one else in the room.

“You guys leaving, huh?” Michael takes a sip of water and rubs a hand through his black hair.

“Guys are pretty exhausted. Plus the tour kicks-off tomorrow. So…” Dean trails off.

Nodding with understanding, Michael puts the water down on a counter and steps up to Dean. Michael holds his hand out and Dean shakes it. “Happy trails and don’t party too hard. I’ll see you guys when you head back this way.”

“Thanks for the party.” Dean leaves it at that and heads off to find Cas and Sam.

***

Castiel doesn’t relax until Benny closes their hotel room door behind them and leaves the three of them for the night. It’s a huge suite, simple elegance, and has a massive bed. There’s two other rooms booked in the hotel under aliases, but the three of them never sleep apart unless they really have to.

Walking up to the bed, Cas stands beside it and waits.

It’s Dean that comes to him first, mouth tasting of mint toothpaste as he lets Castiel kiss him rough and deep. Stroking a hand up Dean’s back, Cas suddenly grabs a handful of Dean’s short light brown hair and holds him tight. Seizing Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth, Cas bites down and draws blood then licks his way back into Dean’s mouth, sharing the iron tang of Dean over their tongues. Pressing against Dean, Cas rubs himself on him as he claws at Dean’s clothes. And then Sam’s large paws dive in and help Cas to get rid of Dean’s extra layers, until all he’s wearing is his favorite necklace—brass figurehead with horns—and his pentagram-sunburst tattoo.

Cock bobbing heavy and full before him, Dean moans into Castiel’s mouth when Sam reaches down to stroke his brother. It’s getting too warm for Cas, so he strips himself in-between kisses shared with Dean, then takes over from Sam so he too can strip. Dean’s cock is warm and dripping pre-come as Cas slowly strokes him.

Breaking away from kissing Dean, Cas nods to Sam the moment he's naked. “Sam, cuffs.”

The younger Winchester disappears and Cas hears the sound of a suitcase opening. Seconds later, Sam’s at his side. At the sight of the leather cuffs, Dean begins to whimper, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Safe word,” Cas demands of Dean as Sam works Dean’s arms behind his back and cuffs him.

“Red,” Dean moans, a blissful look softening his face as the leather is cinched and secured around his skin.

“Good. And?”

“Green,” Dean replies and visibly shivers as Sam licks a trail up Dean’s back.

Kneeling down in front of Dean, Cas breathes in his lover’s musk and then laps at the tip of his cock. Dean squirms on the spot and then gasps as Sam pushes his legs open.

“Cas, shall I?” Sam asks, still letting Castiel control the situation. The three of them know what Sam is asking.

Standing up again, Cas braces Dean and nods to Sam. “Now.”

Waiting for the rush of air towards his flesh, Dean’s breaths become shorter as anticipation grips him. Then— _thwack!_ Sam’s open palm comes down on his right ass cheek and Dean yelps, but he doesn’t cry out, the sting sending a blurt of pre-come out of his slit. The first strike is quickly followed by a second, this one on Dean’s left cheek, curling sweetly around it.

“You’re being such a good boy for your brother,” Cas purrs beside Dean’s left ear.

“Always...”  _thwack!_ “Wanna be…”  _thwack!_ “Good for both…”  _thwack_ “Of You!” Dean pants out between hits as the spanking continues.

Dean doesn’t need a mirror to know that with each strike his ass is blooming a brighter shade of red, though he wonders if they could get a wall sized one installed back home. He never understands how Sammy how walk away without his hands stinging.

Finding the twenty second hit to be particularly overwhelming, Dean’s mind just clears of everything. He just about manages to blurt out “yellow!” before his muscles go lax, and then strong hands and arms carry him to their queen sized bed and lay him out on his side.

Sore in all the best possible ways, Dean makes happy noises as Cas and Sam kiss him all over. Their lips finding every single spot that makes him tremble.

“Dean,” Cas says, kissing his way up Dean’s chest, “you should say thank you to Sam.”

Nodding in agreement, Dean turns over and kneels, thighs shaking a little. Sam slides in front of Dean and strokes his hair, before grabbing Dean’s short tufts and sinking Dean’s mouth down onto his cock. A hint of saltiness drags itself over Dean’s tongue as he happily hums around the fullness of his mouth.

Letting out a shuddering gasp, Sam’s glaze flips between the gorgeous sight of Dean swallowing all of him, still restrained by the cuffs, as Cas slips down behind Dean. Sam knows the moment Castiel’s tongue has breached Dean’s rim, because Dean rushes forward to take his huge length further. A little envious of Dean’s lack of gag reflex, Sam begins to pump his hips towards Dean as Cas works his brother open.

The sight of Dean’s pink asshole, reddened cheeks framing it, is always a heady sight for Castiel. Tasting Dean for some time, teasing that ring of muscle for what seems like forever, Cas eventually gets up and grabs some lube. Coating his index and middle finger, Cas soon has two fingers wholly inside Dean.

Room smelling of musk and sex; Dean panting around Sam’s cock while pushing his ass back towards Cas and his devious fingers: Cas wonders how he spent so long not knowing what it was like to have these two brothers sharing themselves with him. A year ago and they were all nervous kisses, and quick blow jobs, and now? Dean frequently gifts himself to Cas and Sam, trusting them to make him feel good.

Once Dean is open and ready, pre-come drooling onto the sheets, Cas slicks himself up and slowly pushes himself into Dean’s tight heat. Slowly working his way inside until he bottoms out and Dean’s mewling around Sam’s cocks.

Sharing a glance with Sam, Cas knows the younger Winchester can’t last much longer.

“Dean, we’re going to make Sam come.”

And that’s all Dean needs to start making the filitest sounds as he sucks Sam down harder, hollowing his cheeks, head bobbing in time with Castiel’s building thrusts. Sam’s hands guide Dean by the shoulders and support him.

“Damnit, Dean, you’re such a good brother,” Sam cries, body tensing as the tension of release snaps inside him and he starts filling Dean’s mouth with hot come. Dean’s warm mouth works Sam through his aftershocks, swallowing it all down.

A whimper escapes Dean as Sam finally pulls his cock out of Dean’s mouth. But Dean’s mouth is quickly occupied by Sam’s, licking inside and tasting himself. Cas feels a new wave of warmth washing over him as he sees the sweetness behind the brothers’ kisses.

“Sam, shall we let Dean come?” Cas asks, changing the position of his hips slightly so he begins to seriously hit Dean’s prostate.

Crying out, Dean looks over his shoulder at Cas, eyes demanding yes to the question, but voice saying nothing.

“Let him come on your cock,” Sam replies, grinning, and bringing Dean’s mouth back to his own.

Speeding up—the familiar knot in Cas’s stomach pulling so taught that he knows he won’t last long either—Cas works with Sam to get Dean to come. As Sam fucks Dean’s mouth with his tongue, Cas fucks Dean’s ass with his cock. The second Dean cries into Sam’s mouth again, Cas also feels Dean’s hole flutter before his lover tenses and starts to come.

Sam swallows his brothers cries, but no one silences Castiel as the drummer shouts, coming and snapping his hips hard against Dean. It takes Castiel a while to still as he fills Dean. But finally he stops.

Hands still strong, Cas uncuffs Dean and lays the elder Winchester out. Sam disappears and returns with damp washcloths; he and Cas work to clean them all up.

Satiated, Sam and Dean move Cas into the center of their bed and curl around him, sheets pulled up. Sleep finds them all easily as they forget about what the new day will bring and the tour they’re about to embark on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was spun out of a conversation I had with [Angrysouffle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angrysouffle/pseuds/Angrysouffle) over on Tumblr, about a piece of Wincestiel fan art we'd seen that made it look like the guys were posing for an album cover.
> 
> The art? [Fan Art by sweetari](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/140513977927/fan-art-by-sweetdari). Souffs made the suggestion it looked like the guys were in a boy band, to which I said:
> 
> "The suggestive cover for their second album that leaves their fans wondering...... Are they *gasp* together?"
> 
> And the idea kinda spun around in my head from there. As I can't handle the idea of the guys being in a boy band, I've written them as members of a rock band, which is meant to hold a resemblance to the British band Muse. (At least in the earlier stages of when they started becoming big.)
> 
> You can find me over on Tumblr at [Dreams from the Bunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Cover art in Chapter 1 derived from ["Muse" by wonker](https://flic.kr/p/RRDqk), and is used under a [Attribution 2.0 Generic Creative Commons License](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode).


	2. Tour Bus

Uncle Bobby is always the clearest. Standing outside on the rickety porch, junkyard stretching as far as the treeline. Bobby has a hand on both Sam and Dean’s backs. Holding them. Steadying them. The sun shines high in the sky and Sam trembles like any ten year old would when they find out their daddy _has_ to leave them.

“I won’t say it again, John. Leave before I gotta go and call the sheriff.” Bobby strokes reassuring circles into Sam’s back.

“They’re my boys.” John stakes a step closer. Dean had been playing catch with Sam before their father had shown up out of nowhere.

”And the courts have said you’re unfit to raise ‘em. Look, take the rehab, do the steps—get a solid, job and a new place. Then we can talk about visitation. But you’re not doing yourself any favors right now, John. So leave, please. For your boys’ sakes.”

Throwing his arms up in the air, their father turns on his heels and storms off, little dust clouds following his boots as he hikes back to his old Chevy Impala. Dean says something to Uncle Bobby, but Sam doesn’t catch it.

Eyes blinking open, Sam finds he his smushed up against Dean, face on his chest. Cas is behind him, morning wood pressing against his crack. Carefully, Sam wiggles out from both of them, wondering how he ended up in the middle, and crawls of their hotel bed.

Dawn colors the sky in pretty pinks and oranges. Shaking his head free of the not quite nightmare, Sam heads to the bathroom, does his business and pulls on some sweats from his case. He’s doing press-ups when the weight of Dean’s foot presses down against the middle of his back.

“What are you, fifteen? Cut it out,” Sam gripes. Dean’s foot leaves and suddenly Sam’s wrestled onto his back by his naked brother.

“Morning to you too.” Dean grins down at Sam and winks.

Pursing his lips, Sam shifts his legs and throws Dean off balance, rolling them until he’s on top. “You’re lucky I’ve just finished.”

“Shame we don’t have enough time to do anything else.” Dean winks again and Sam seizes his brother’s mouth with his. Sam kisses Dean, desperation clear, until Dean’s swatting him away, because they really do not have enough time to do anything about their half-hard cocks.

“Morning,” Cas says nonchalantly as his feet come into Sam’s line of view.

_Yeah, we really don’t have time for this._ Sam sighs and climbs off of Dean and helps his brother to his feet. “How’s your ass?” Sam asks, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Licking his lips, Dean turns around so his naked ass is on display. “Fine, thanks for asking,” Dean answers and then strolls off towards the bathroom, cheeks a brighter shade than usual.

Cas remains with Sam, butt naked and closes the distance between them. “Do you have one of those kisses for me?” Castiel asks, fingertips snaking into the waistband of Sam’s sweats.

“Maybe,” says Sam and then he kisses Cas, hot and needy, dick paying attention yet again.

Breaking the kiss, Cas nestles his face against Sam’s neck. “Mmm, shame we don’t have more time this morning,” Cas groans.

“We’ll just have to get a lot of cuddles in on the way to the airport.”

“Yes, “cuddles”,” Cas deadpans as a knock on the door announces breakfast.

Before letting Sam go to the door to let room service in, Cas grips Sam’s right hand and squeezes it. “You were whimpering in your sleep again,” Cas says softly.

“Just a bad dream.” Sam’s cheeks dimple with his uneasiness.

“If you need to talk… we’ll listen.”

Sam’s heart melts a little and leans in to give Cas a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”

Nodding, Castiel and lets go of Sam’s hand so he can let in breakfast and slinks off to the bathroom.

Heading over to the door, Sam grabs his wallet and checks the peephole to be sure it’s room service. Seeing a dark haired woman in a maid’s outfit, trolley ladened with food beside her, Sam’s pretty sure breakfast has come. Opening the door, Sam greets the maid with a smile.

“Here’s your complimentary breakfast, sir. If there is anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to call room service.” The maid wheels the food in and parks it in the center of the room. The shower can be heard, making Sam try not to think what Dean and Cas might be doing despite their lack of time. The maid starts setting the breakfast up on a table, but Sam waves her off.

“Thank you, but I can do that. Here…” Sam gives the maid a tip.

“No, thank you,” she replies with a demure smile before leaving Sam alone with the breakfast.

Sam finishes setting out their breakfast things— _I need to talk to Dean about eating all this grease all the time_ —and he doesn’t see the tiny tiny scrap of old newspaper folded up between some of the plates. Separating the dishes out, the folded cutout slips onto the floor and is kicked out of the way.

***

Dean’s shaking the second they get in the limo at the hotel. Meg is already waiting for them at the airport, but that’s the problem—they’re going to an airport; they’re going to be flying—and Dean just can’t handle this. He can’t quite trace the source of the fears that are bubbling up inside of him, as Sam rubs circles into the back of his hands and Cas shows him how to breathe—but he’s a mess as it is. It doesn’t matter where his fear came from, because he’s not sure if he’ll make it through the day. And a part of him knows this is irrational, that they’ll get where they’re going in one piece. That driving in the limo is more dangerous than flying, but it doesn’t make any of it any better.

Last night had just been a way for him to delay having to think about being cocooned in a body of flying metal that hurtles through the sky. The closer they get to LAX, the more Dean trembles—body so tense that his neck is seriously starting to hurt. His whole body feels like it’s being twisted upon itself, but he can’t relax and unwind.

“Hey, it’ll be fine. We’ll be at JFK before you know it and on the tour bus,” says Sam as his fingers continue to rub circles into Dean’s hands. Dean appreciates that Sam has every bit of faith in the process they’re about to go through— _but that doesn’t mean I am okay with this. I am so far from okay, I’m already halfway to fucking Europe._

All too soon the limo is pulling up at the terminal they’re meant to be departing from and there’s cameras flashing in their faces and Dean’s got fear sweat streaking down his back. Sunglasses on, bags on shoulders, Dean, Sam and Cas are led past the crowd gathered outside and make their way to the terminal building.

“Did you expect—”

“Will you say something about the rumors—”

“Can you comment on—”

“Dean, MARRY ME!”

Benny keeps things in check, helping them past the assorted paparazzi and fans and then Balthazar and Meg are greeting them on the inside.

“Well I think your little album release may have caused something of a stir,” Balthazar muses as he walks with the guys.

“If by “stir” you mean leading the charts, then sure, it caused a stir, guys.” Meg turns and flashes the three of them a smile.

Dean lets the rest of the conversation wash over him and seems out of it while they go through security. No one says anything to him about it, understanding that he’s slowly trying to build up the walls that’ll help him get through the flight. Pulling out his mini-disc player from his satchel, he queues up the audiobook version of the first _Harry Potter_ novel and leaves his earphones dangling around his neck.

Finally sitting down in first class, his belt somehow ends up done up and Sam sits next to him. But Dean is only vaguely aware of this, having put his earphones in and started up _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ before the plane even takes off.

***

The initial sign something is wrong is when Castiel’s seat is jostled from behind. It’s first class. You’d either have to be stretching really hard or panicking in order to do that. Standing up and turning, Cas kneels on his seat. Dean’s asleep—earbuds still in—and Sam isn’t in his seat. Nothing weird.

Dean’s breathing suddenly hitches and he kicks out, starting to thrash in his seat. Cas is suddenly at Dean’s side and shaking him awake.

“Dean, Dean, wake up!” Cas says softly, but loud enough for Dean to hear.

Emerald eyes blinking open, Dean looks up at Cas, sleepy confusion making him frown. It would be cute if it weren’t for the fact that he’d clearly been having a nightmare. Slowly, Dean pulls his earbuds out, mouth twisting as he tries to figure out what to say.

“You were having a nightmare,” Cas states, taking Sam’s seat on Dean’s right. _At least he doesn’t seem to be worried about flying at the moment._ “Do you remember what you were dreaming?”

Gritting his jaw, Dean lets out a long breath and then puts a hand through his hair. Relaxing a little, he says, “I… Um… It was the fire.”

Trying not to visibly tense, Cas puts his left hand on Dean’s right and squeezes it.

A hollow laugh escapes Dean and he shakes his head. “Ain’t it stupid, after all these years I still dream about it? Let it screw with me.” There’s tears in Dean’s eyes. “It’s happened. There’s nothing I can do now.”

“There may be nothing you can do, but it’s not stupid that you dream about the fire still.” Cas squeezes Dean’s hand again.

“I still miss mom, y’know?” Dean says in a small voice.

Cas doesn’t care who might be watching them right now, he draws up Dean’s hand and kisses it. The armrest between them making it too difficult for Cas to draw Dean into a hug. _But once we’re on our bus, Dean…_ Cas silently promises. “I know you do, baby. I know.” Cas kisses Dean’s hand again.

A shadow looms over them and their moose is looking at them, concern clear on his face. “Hey, what’s up?”

Patting Dean’s hand, Cas stands up to give Sam his seat back. “Bad dream.” Cas gets out .of the way.

Giving a knowing nod, Sam sits down and squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Look, it’s nothing. Quit your fussing.” Dean looks up at Sam and Cas, then he starts to tremble a little. Cas sees the change in his face, dawning realization that he’s still on a plane. Still in the air.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Cas says before heading off to find a steward.

Soon enough he’s back by their seats, followed by an stewardess who’s got a tray with three well filled plastic cups of bourbon. No ice, just as they normally drink it.

“Here you go gentlemen.” The stewardess puts their cups down in their drink holders. Dean grabs at his almost straight away. Chugging down the deep amber liquid.

Cas clears his throat before the stewardess can go and asks quietly, “How much longer?”

Of course the stewardess has seen the worried look on Dean’s face and him drinking down his glass of liquor in one mouthful. She gets why Cas is asking. “We’ll be on approach soon.”

Almost as if the flight captain had heard the stewardess, an announcement rings out over the PA and the fasten seatbelt sign switches on. Sam helps Dean put his belt on and Cas gets back into his seat and fastens his.

Picking up his own cup of bourbon, Cas sips it, rather than downing it in one go. Letting the oaky sweet liquid warm his tongue and mouth. Cas finds himself wishing he could do more for Dean. If they were alone, just the three of them, him and Sam would be all over Dean with cuddles and kisses. But it’s going to be more than forty minutes before they’re on their tour bus.

A small whimper escapes Dean. Cas squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that Sam’s reassuring touches and mutterings will get Dean through the next forty minutes.

***

Eyes still finding it difficult to focus after having several dozen flashes go off in his face, Sam helps Cas steer Dean to their waiting tour bus. Meg is leading the way, with Benny and Balthazar talking in low voices behind them. Somehow, Becky Rosen had managed to make it to the other side of the country and had been waiting in the crowd for them at JFK airport. This had not gone down well with Sam, but he didn’t say anything, his concern for Dean outweighing his own discomfort.

The improvement in Dean was noticeable the second they walked onto the gangway that led off the plane. He’d relaxed before Sam and Castiel’s eyes, shoulders returning to their natural position, neck stretching out, lips and jaw relaxing. A smile had crept onto his lips and Sam had had to do everything not to draw Dean into a kiss as they made their way through arrivals. The expression of extreme concentration on Castiel’s face had told Sam that he had been exerting the same control over himself.

“Well, this it boys. Animus on wheels,” Meg says, turning and grinning at them. The gleaming exterior and blacked out windows of the bus are cut up with black, swirling intricate lines and curves, thick and thin—cascading from the rear to the front of the bus like a crashing wave of water.

Sam recognized the style. He adjusted the bag trap on his shoulder. “Did you get Pamela to design this?”

Smiling and nodding, Meg gives him a wink. “Yes. Now we gonna see what goodies we have inside and hit the road or what?”

Catching Cas rolling his eyes, Sam leads the three of them to the bus as Meg, Benny and Balthazar follow behind. “Who’s driving?” Cas asks as they reach the steps up into the vehicle.

“That would be me. Hi,” a skinny man, short light brown hair swept to the side, grins from the driver’s seat, “name’s Garth Fitzgerald IV. But you can call me Garth.”

Not that Sam was ever one to judge someone by their size—no would believe, to look at Dean, tall strapping Dean, the cries of need that he could give when Sam stroked his prostate—but Garth did not look like he was built to handle 27 tons of bus. The guy looked like a strong breeze would send him halfway across the state.

“Hello Garth. I am Castiel,” Cas holds out his right hand and Garth shakes it, “and this is Sam,” Sam waves, “and Dean.” Dean nods curtly.

“Great, well now that we’re all introduced, why don’t you all get comfy in the back. Meg’s done a bang up job of getting this girl kitted out.” Garth flashes them a grin.

Taking the hint that they should get moving, Sam scrambles into the bus proper and walks down its vast length. There’s lounge areas; a tiny kitchen; some bunks way at the back; a big TV and a PlayStation 2—all comfy and theirs. It’s luxury on wheels.

Grinning, because their first tour bus was an old school bus they had resurrected from Uncle Bobby’s junkyard, Sam eagerly draws Cas and Dean down onto a couch. Noticing there’s a curtain that can separate them off from the front of the bus, Sam pulls it across, hopefully giving Meg, Balthazar and Benny the message that they want to be alone for now.

“How are you doing, Dean?” Cas asks quietly, now stroking the back of Dean’s neck. Sam stows their bags and then slides in beside them. He kisses Dean on the cheek and then nuzzles him.

“Better. Can we just leave it at that. Okay.” And to make it impossible for him to answer any more questions, Dean steals a kiss from Cas and then Sam. Flicking his head between them both, kissing them deeply and leaving them breathless each time he turns to kiss the other.

As far as distraction tactics go, it’s pretty effective. Sam finds himself having to bite back a moan as his hard cock strains against his jeans. On the other side of the curtain, he can hear snippets of a conversation as the bus comes to life and starts moving.

“Madison Square Garden tonight. Is Jess’s management all clear on how tonight is going?” asks Balthazar.

“Yep, she’s on for thirty minutes before the boys, then there’s a short set-up period and she hands the crowd over to them. I’ve spoken to her on the phone, Balthy, she’s young, but she’s not stupid,” Meg drawls.

Before Sam can get too lost in listening to business talk, there’s a hand on his flies and then Dean’s pulling him out and gripping Sam’s hot and hard length. Stifling a gasp, Sam tries to play it cool as Dean strokes him at the same time as Castiel’s, greedy mouth flitting between the two of them. Dean would get some well deserved ciddles soon, and that was what Sam had been originally aiming for, but if Dean wants this Sam is not going to begrudge him for it.

_Even if there’s four other people on the other side of the curtain…_

Dean picks up easily on the moment Sam’s going to come—body tensing just before his orgasm hits. Rather than letting Sam make a mess everywhere, Dean lets go of Cas’s dick so he can slip down in the seat and slide a mouth hot wet mouth over Sam’s cock instead. As Sam pulses into Dean’s mouth, Cas leans over and steals a kiss from Sam to stop his little cries getting too loud, hand firmly on his neck. When Sam’s done, Dean gets up and licks his lips before returning to Castiel’s hardness, but this time it’s his mouth and not his hand. Dean quickly works Cas to orgasm as Sam returns the favour and stifles Castiel’s cries with his mouth.

Panting on the couch, Sam gets Dean to stand up and before his brother can say anything, Sam pulls him out of his jeans. Sam motions to Cas and their mouths both head towards Dean’s cock.

“Don’t make a sound,” Cas commands. And Dean doesn’t as Sam and Cas share hot messy kisses around Dean’s leaking cock. The bus keeps driving and Meg, Benny and Balthazar keep talking on behind the curtain. Apparently oblivious, as Cas and Sam leave Dean a quivering mess as they taste him and each other. Tongues tracing Dean’s shaft. Teasing his slit.

Dean’s hands roughly grab onto their shoulders as his orgasm starts to hit, his body seizing up. Cas sinks his mouth over Dean’s cock and Sam watches as Dean does so good at not making a single noise.

Finally the three of them get comfortable on the large couch, cuddling and snuggling up as the bus nears Madison Square Gardens.


	3. Madison Square Garden

Plush leather couches and a bucket of beers on ice greet Sam, Cas and Dean as they make their way into a shared dressing room. There’s a few hours until they’ll be on stage. The crew who they haven’t met yet are already out with Jess’s crew sorting out the stage—Meg was responsible for making sure no one fucked up and Sam likes it that way.

“We’ll have wardrobe and makeup by in an hour. Just chill for the moment, chaps. Try not to drink too much beer, do order some food… I have to go and call Gabriel. Apparently he didn’t like me letting Bela Talbot being kicked out last night.” Balthazar shakes his head.

“Oh for— she was—y’know!” Dean starts.

“I know. And I will handle Gabe. Benny’s outside. Please, guys, just relax. I’ll see you a while later.” Balthazar heads out and closes the door behind him.

The door opens again as Sam heads towards the beer and he hears Cas say, “Benny, can you make sure we’re not disturbed for the next hour? Dean needs some rest after the flight.”

“Sure thing,” drawls Benny. The door shuts and the lock clicks. Sam turns to see Cas standing by the door.

“We have to _relax_ , like Gabe said.” Cas eyes Sam and Dean, giving Sam the feeling he’s undressing them with his eyes. “C’mon.” Cas motions towards the large couch. Sam follows him with a bottle of chilled beer, as does Dean.

Sitting down in the soft leather, letting himself sink into it, Sam lets out a long breath and sighs before twisting off the cap on his bottle of beer. The cushions either side of him dip as Cas and Dean join him, their own bottles of beer in hand.

“So, Becky made it here,” Dean starts and then takes a sip of his beer. “You gonna be okay, Sammy?”

 _Dean did notice…_ Becky’s grinning face comes forward in Sam’s mind’s eye and he shivers. He takes a sip of beer before answering, letting the hoppy flavor wash over his tongue. “Benny will… make sure she doesn’t get into the show… right?”

Because the last thing Sam wants is to be playing and singing on stage with the woman who tried to drug him standing among the rest of his fans. It was only a year ago, but Sam remembers how close he’d gotten to drinking a glass of whiskey that had been roofied. Benny had stepped forward out of the shadows in the club they were visiting and smacked the glass away from Sam’s hand.

Becky had startled at that moment and tried to run, but Benny caught her—

“Sam, you with us?” Dean asks, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Yeah, sorry. Just… yeah.” Sam gives Dean and Cas a weak smile and sips his beer some more.

Dean throws an arm around Sam’s shoulders and squeezes. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine.”

Swallowing, Sam closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against Dean’s arm. “The setlist tonight… Can we start with “Fresh Essential”? Stoke up the crowd.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Dean kisses Sam’s cheek and the couch shifts around Sam. Dean’s lips leave his face. Sam keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t startle when Castiel’s lips find his—a scent of heather, cloves and fresh cotton washing over him.

Beer taken from his hand, Dean leaves Sam for a moment. Cas encourages Sam to sit forward and then Cas’s strong drummer hands grip Sam’s shoulders. Barely opening his eyes, Sam sees Dean’s feet as he walks back over to the couch. Sam groans happily as Cas begins to massage his neck and shoulders.

“You’re taking Balthazar’s advice literally then?” Sam asks. Dean leans in and steals a kiss.

Hands gripping a little tighter, but working into Sam’s muscles in all the right ways, Cas chuckles. “Figured we should. Been a busy few of days. And you’re right, Fresh Essential would make a good opening song.”

***

All clad in black, hair pristine, blood pumping: Animus stand in the wings as Jessica Moore, a.k.a. Innate, closes her act and gets a warm round of applause from an audience that’s mainly there to see Dean, Cas and Sam.

 _They’re ready for us_ , Dean thinks to himself as the crowd start chanting for them. Animus’s crew hops on stage while Innate and her backing band step off. Instruments are put out and taken away a highly organized dance. Dean eyes the keyboard he’ll be heading to. Pumping his shoulders up and down, and jumping on the spot, Dean flexes his arms a little, muscles rippling under his black t-shirt.

“You ready?” Cas asks loudly, over the roar of the chanting audience.

Dean touches the earphone that’ll help him hear what Cas and Sam are doing as they play. “I was born ready. Sammy?”

Jess waves from the opposite wings on the far side of the stage. Dena notices Sam swallowing awkwardly. “Y-yes. Ready.”

“Then what are we waiting for.” Cas states, rather than asks, and powers ahead, walking towards his drum kit on stage. Dean motions to Sam and they follow him together. The second they’re out, cameras pick them up and show them on massive screens to the sides of the stage.

Taking his place beside his keyboard, electric guitar on a nearby stand, Dean checks it’s on his preferred classical piano setting. Sure that it is, Dean looks to Cas and Sam, they both nod at him. Flexing his fingers, Dean bops his head as a countdown, fingers poised and ready, and then he begins the first few notes of “Fresh Essential”. It’s the opening track from their new album.

The screams and shouts charge Dean’s soul, driving his fingers across the keys as he lets the music begin to swell. Sam’s bouncing bass begins to join in and then Cas’s drums. Edging closer to the microphone on a stand in front of him, Dean takes a deep breath and begins to sing.

“Seal this love and make it yours. Give into it fresh and ready. Forget to be everything else. Just be essential. Give into me, seal this love and make it yours,” Dean intones, voice heady and demanding. He knows the lyrics by heart and he understands the role that they paint him in as his voice and fingers lead the set. But Dean can’t focus on the irony that his lyrical role places him in—how opposite it is to his real nature.

The lyrics are from Sam, painting a bizarre other world mirror of their personalities. Almost all of the songs on their second album were written by Sam. He told Dean he’d been inspired to write them after a dream he’d had one night back home in South Dakota. The stars had been particularly bright that night and the moon incredibly close. They’d spent a lot of the evening outside

It had felt like, as the three of them had been sat out on the hood of one of Bobby’s old cars, that if they stood too tall or jumped that they would have been swallowed by the sky. Falling onto another world. Sam’s brain had translated this in his sleep that night into terrifying visions that had been poured into this new album. But even Dean knew the stars were only half of the story. The events leading up to that night had definitely played a role in the album’s creation.

Final notes playing, Dean’s fingers still and he grabs his mic closer and pumps his fist up into the air. “GOOD EVENING, NEW YORK CITY!” He screeches into the microphone and is greeted by a roar of approval. “Man, it is good to see you again. How you all doing? Huh? Enjoying yourselves I hope. Wasn’t Innate just awesome earlier?”

Dean’s questions elicit fresh waves of agreeable shouts and cries. The audience clearly appreciative of Jess’s talents and that their faves are now stood before them. Winking at their audience gets a roar of laughter and cheers. Dean takes the mic from the stand walks over to his waiting guitar.

“Gentlemen, shall we?” Dean asks, turning to Cas and Sam. The two of them nod.

Hitching his microphone into a stand by his guitar, Dean picks up his guitar and gets the strap comfortably around his neck and shoulders. Cas starts a countdown and begins a new rhythm, Sam’s bass flinging itself behind the beat. A calm settles over the crowd and Dean takes in a huge breath, tasting the anticipation on the air.

Counting the beats, Dean’s fingers finally begin to fly their way up and down the neck of his guitar, squealing and ripping into a new reality. The crowd’s vibrancy dragging them that bit closer to the other world in the stars.

***

Three encores later, throat throbbing and wrists aching, Cas leads Sam and Dean to the backstage VIP area they’ll be spending some time in before heading back to the tour bus. Benny’s behind them and Meg’s in front. A select group of backstage pass owning fans will be allowed into the area and Cas will do his best not to become a pillar of inept sociability in their presence. Cas isn’t scared of other people, he’s just not so sure about conforming to everyone’s social norms.

“Here we are,” greets Balthazar’s smooth voice as they enter the VIP area. “Now please, don’t crowd Sam, Dean and Castiel. And do not ask for any body parts to be signed.”

 _Be nice to them, Castiel, be nice. You were this starry eyed once. Just be the cool guy they all think you are, who’s not fucking two of their favorite singers. Don’t let yourself linger as you look at Sam and Dean. Don’t look. Don’t touch. Don’t taste. They won’t understand. Just behave._ Cas smiles politely at a group of teenagers who have gathered around him.

“Hi, could you sign this for me please, Castiel?” Asks a young woman with black-purple hair, holding out the insert from the new album alongside with the case.

“Of course I can.” Cas takes the offered items and Meg makes a black Sharpie appear in his hand. “And what’s your name?”

“Alex,” beams the girl, smile contrasting with her moodily dark attire.

“A-l-e-x,” Cas draws out as the pen flies across the insert as he writes, Hey, Alex, don’t get sucked into the stars. Castiel. Smiling, Cas hands the insert and case back over to the smiling young woman. He signs seven more inserts before being approached by a nervous young man dressed in skin tight black jeans, and a red and white striped t-shirt.

“Do you have something for me to sign?” Cas asks after a silent two minutes of nervous staring by the young man, his hands fiddling with the lanyard that holds his backstage pass.

“N-no,” nervously replies the young man, eyelashes fluttering over his bright blue eyes.

Quirking his head to the side and noticing no one else is waiting on him to do anything, Cas licks his lips and asks more softly, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Samandriel,” Samandriel manages and then takes a big breath. “I d—didn’t buy my backstage pass. My parents gave it to me as an extra surprise on the way here. And… and…”

“And you didn’t have the chance to prepare yourself for being in front of some of your… heroes, right?” Cas asks knowingly.

“R—right.” Samandriel looks nervously over to Sam and Dean who seem to have drawn every other backstage pass holder to them.

“It’s okay, you know, to get nervous about stuff like this,” Cas reassures. “Even I get jumpy before performing and I’ve been playing live venues since I was sixteen.”

A grateful smile warms Samandriel’s face. “Okay… well… do you mind me asking, well… why’s “Root of Harmony” like… so much darker and heavier than your first album?”

 _I did not come prepared for this. Um…_ “We’d completed our first national tour. Played in Canada. A lot had happened. We’d grown. So age and experience—those are the things that tend to lead you to reflect back on what you have and… perhaps tilt closer to what we achieved in this new album.”

“So did something happen alongside everything in your first tour?” Samandriel asks more boldly.

And sure enough something had happened, but Balthazar, Meg, Gabriel and even Benny had done their best to keep it out of the press. Keep out how Dean Winchester had landed his own father in the ER and not long after, Sam had tried to kill himself. Not that their colleagues, their _friends_ , knew what had caused Dean to lash out at John.

Castiel knew and it had nothing to do with John having to follow a court order so many years ago. _He saw me kissing them while we under a tree in Bobby’s garden. Cuddled up together and sharing our love freely. John saw them, the two of them… with me… with each other... and he’d howled like a wounded beast._ Taking a steadying breath, Cas tries to push the memory back down. Both Bobby and John had come to know about the three of them that day, but Bobby had been the only one to react calmly and not disown the boys.

Realizing he hasn’t answered Samandriel’s question, Cas shakes his head. “No, nothing quite like that. The tour was very stressful. More so than going to college. That’s all.”

“Huh, okay.” Samandriel nods but he doesn’t look like he quite believes what Cas is telling him. “Well, um, remember to try and stay happy this time round, okay?”

If only it was that easy.

***

Tired and hungry, Benny and Meg get them back on the tour bus with some burritos. Sat way in the back on another couch, bunk beds waiting for them, Sam, Dean and Cas eat their burritos while they wait on Balthazar and Garth to agree on a journey plan to DC. Meg skips down to them and pulls up a pew on a beanbag.

“You guys alright?” Meg asks, pushing her long hair behind her ears.

Sam rolls his shoulders and tries not to spill the contents of his burrito at the same time. “Just tired. Right?”

Dean and Cas nod in agreement, though Cas puts his burrito into just his left hand so he can shake out his right. “Though maybe some ibuprofen would help?”

Still didn’t matter how many setlists Cas played, Sam knew their angel was going to hurt a little, what with the way he would throw himself into playing his drums. His own fingers were creaking a little from playing his bass.

“Sure thing, Clarence,” Meg simpers before getting up to go look for some pills. Sam notices Cas redden a little at the term of endearment, but doesn’t say anything as they finish their burritos.

Glancing over to the bunks, Sam’s wondering how easy it would be to fit two of them in one bunk. He’s pretty sure they can’t all fit in one, though Sam’s willing to try. It’s been so long since he’s slept without another body touching his own, he’s not entirely sure he remembers quite how to sleep by himself.

Twenty minutes later, the bus is moving. Cas has had his pills, they’ve attempted to brush their teeth and wipe off their make up. All dressed down to sweats with no shirts on, because it’s a little too muggy, even in the aircon that permeates their rolling base of luxury, The three of them look at the three bunks they have to choose from.

“I’ll take top,” Sam suggests. “Looks easy enough to get into.”

Dean crouches down to look at the bottom bunk. “Yeah, if Cas is—” Dean stops talking.

“Hey, Dean, is Cas what?” Sam crouches down beside his brother, the floor swaying beneath them a little as Garth makes the bus shift lanes. But Sam doesn’t mind the moving structure as his eyes light upon what made Dean stop mid sentence.

Sat upon the pristine white pillows of the bunk Dean had been about to crawl into is a teddy bear. At least, Sam’s guessing it’s a teddy bear—it’s ears are mere stubs, burnt and tacky, the fur melted and black. Scorch marks litter the teddy’s fur, making the tawny browness black and matted. Dean’s breathing is coming in short, sharp bursts, panic clearly filling him up. Their silence draws Cas down and he points towards the mangled teddy bear.

“Why is there a burned teddy bear on this bed?” Cas asks plainly.

Putting a reassuring hand on Dean’s back and trying to keep himself composed, Sam ponders the same question as Cas.

“Stop the bus,” Dean asks weakly, Sam not quite hearing him.

“Sorry, what—”

“STOP THE BUS!” Dean shouts, scrambling up and away from the bed, shaking off Sam’s hand. Garth must have heard the commotion, because he pulls them over pretty quickly. Before anyone can do or say anything else, Dean’s out the main door and puking his guts up beside the highway.

Sam comes out of the bus holding onto the teddy bear and gives it to Meg. She looks at it with raised eyebrows. Cas and Benny join them and both give the bear a confused look.

Dean snaps round and points angrily at the teddy. “HE SHOULDN’T BE HERE!” Dean practically screams, face going red.

Trying to wrap his arms around Dean who’s now shivering, Sam looks back to the bear.

“Dean, it’s just a teddy bear. Okay, a pretty messed up teddy bear, but I’m sure it’s just some joke. Gabe probably set Benny up to put it there. Right Benny?” Sam looks to their bodyguard, hopeful that this is just that: a joke.

“I didn’t bring that on the bus,” Benny says, clearly annoyed.

“Then—”

“SAM! That bear—” Dean shouts, “was mine, before _the damn fire!_ ” Dean begins to sob a little. “I’d recognize Mister Hugs anywhere.”

Having been too young to remember anything of their lives before the fire that killed their mother, Sam doesn’t know who Mister Hugs is. But now? He’s pretty convinced Dean does. Sam looks at the aged bear, ugly beyond its original design.

 _How the hell did a teddy bear lost in a fire in Lawrence, Kansas over twenty two years ago end up on a tour bus in New York City?_ Sam asks himself, fear making his toes curl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got my SPN Kink BB fic going up on Sunday, so won't be doing any more updates for this one this weekend. But if you're enjoying the Wincestiel here, be sure to keep an eye out for my SPN Kink BB fic as it is wall-to-wall Wincestiel.


	4. Needful Things

Dean can’t stop shivering. He’s camped out on the couch near the bunks with Cas and Sam. Benny has Mister Hugs with him at the front of the bus as he talks with Balthazar and Meg. Garth’s got the bus back on the highway and they’re on their way to D.C..

Closing his eyes, teeth chattering, Dean jumps a little in his seat when Cas throws a large blue blanket around him. Opening his eyes, Dean’s greeted by concerned frowns from Sam and Cas.

“Guys…”

“We’re worried.” Sam gives Dean the puppydog eyes and _for christ’s sake can we not do this_.

“Benny and Garth checked the bus. No one else is here.” Dean shrugs, knowing it’s a pointless rationalization, because that is definitely Mister Hugs with Benny and nothing rational could have brought the teddy bear onto the bus. But Dean has no idea who would bring a long forgotten toy into his life. _Even Dad wouldn’t do this_.

“But—” Cas begins.

“There’s nothing we can _do_.” Frustration makes Dean pull the blanket off, warmth returning to him as his anger grows.

“Okay.” Cas holds his hands up in a show of supplication, the look of concern on his face unshifting.

“Look, we’re all tired, let’s try to get some shut-eye, okay?” Sam asks, but he doesn’t move towards the bunks.

Sagging back against the seat, anger leaving him, Dean nods. “Fine, fine.”

Sam and Cas curl up beside Dean. Pulling the blue blanket around them, Cas cradles his head on Dean’s shoulder while Sam pulls him into a hug under the blanket, resting his head on top of Dean’s. There’s no curtain drawn to hide them from Meg and the others, but Dean can’t bring himself to care has he breathes in the reassuring scent of Sam’s apple shampoo and the honey moisturizer Cas uses.

Closing his eyes, Dean allows himself to try and relax. His body wants him to sleep, there’s no doubt about that. Even though the concert ended two hours ago, he can still feel the music pulsing through and over him. Sleep normally makes the low level shaking disappear, but being able to sleep means trying to scrub away the image of Mister Hugs that’s floating around his mind’s eye.

Castiel’s lips press against Dean’s neck and slowly kiss him. Cas flicks his tongue out and alternates between licks and small sweet caresses, making Dean hum appreciatively. The tension twisting Dean in on himself is clear to Cas and he knows that he needs to do what he can to make Dean feel more like himself. The couch shifts and Sam gets up, pulling the curtain to their area closed and then comes back to them. They won’t hit D.C. until the morning and they need to get some sleep. Cas is pretty sure that Meg had said something about one talkshow interview, plus playing live on national TV. The gig in D.C. was going to be a more intimate affair in a bar. Place sold out.

There would be a hotel between the talkshow and the gig. _But would it be long enough for us to…?_ Cas starts imagining how he would spank Dean’s ass, help give him something else to think about. Squirming on the couch, Cas readjusts himself as his dick begins to fill and he breathes in the spicy sweetness of Dean. Now wasn’t the time to try anything—Meg or any of the others were now even more likely to swoop in and check on them uninvited. No, Cas had to wait. They all had to wait.

***

The moment Castiel laid eyes on the talkshow host? He couldn’t trust her. Amelia Richardson—cute dainty looks, curling hair and soulful brown eyes—kept eyeing Sam with a level of interest that made Cas feel something deep and primal. Like he should just hoist Sam over his shoulder and lug him out of the studio and fuck him back on the tour bus. But Cas isn’t a caveman and understands that his sudden urges will need to be reigned in as best as he can.

Still, he can’t hold his hand back from briefly gripping Sam’s hip as they wait in an elevator on the way up to wardrobe and make-up. They’re right at the back and Cas watches the way Sam swallows. Enjoys the way Sam pushes gently back against him. Tilting his head, Dean catches the exchange and blushes, freckles standing out.

If the three of them are walking just that bit awkwardly as they leave the elevator—led down a hallway with Balthazar, Benny and a production assistant—nobody says anything as they reach where they need to be. The production assistant herds them into the waiting arms of wardrobe and make-up and leaves them in their capable hands. At least Cas hopes they’re capable, but eyeing some of the gaudier looking items on a nearby clothes rail? He’s not so sure.

“Okay, so we’ve got a few items from—” a stylist begins, but stops when she sees the frown Dean’s giving the clothes rail.

“We’re an alternative rock group,” Dean mutters loudly on purpose. There’s not a single pair of black or ripped jeans on the rail. Not one black t-shirt. Instead it holds a selection of suits, dress shirts, and something red and shiny that looks like Eddie Murphy may have worn during the 1980s.

“Um, well. The suits are by—”

“Don’t care. Either we look like we do when we’re on stage for our fans, or we’re going in front of the cameras naked.” Dean crosses his arms.

Sam guffaws and slaps Dean across the back. “So... we’re really... doing this?” Sam asks between sharp intakes of breath as he fights off a laughing fit.

Grinning, Dean shrugs. “I figured two more years was too long to wait for our primadonna phase to really kick in. Seriously though, I haven’t worn a suit since commencement weekend and I don’t wanna make a habit of it now. Socks on cocks was good enough for the Chilis—maybe we should bring that back.”

“But these suits are designed by—” the stylist tries again, but doesn’t get very far, seeming to give in to the bitchface that Sam throws her way.

“Plus, the jackets will be a pain to play in for the set they want us to do. But socks on cocks...” Cas joins in.

“Exactly!” Dean turns to Cas and gives him a warm smile. “What’s the point in dressing up if we can’t play? We’re not miming. We _never_ mime.”

One of the first things they had decided on, before the band even had a name, was their stance on miming when they play. In fact the most viewed post on the band’s personal blog was a manifesto on this matter. The post was titled “Fuck Fakers”.

Catching the near white pallor of the stylist, Cas licks his lips and tilts his head to the side. Thoughtfully, he says, “Of course we could just slip into some fresh threads, like what we wear on stage. No near nudity on screen. No FCC investigation. We can play. Everybody wins. Right, Dean, Sam?”

Sam and Dean gently nod their heads in agreement.

Balthazar clears his throat. “I’ll send Meg on a hunt.”

***

“Now I’m going to ask the obvious question first, boys: why music? And music like this. You have to admit there is a lot of sorrow to be found in your latest album.” Amelia strokes down the length of her skirt and fixes Dean with a polite smile. The warmth doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Music’s played a big part in all of our lives, right _guys_?” Dean says, trying to differentiate them from the language Amelia is using. Sitting in front of the bright lights, Dean feels more uncomfortable than at a concert. More exposed. Like another Mister Hugs could be waiting for him.

“Oh absolutely. One of my earliest memories is being sat in the back of my dad’s car and hearing “Smoke on the Water” on the stereo...” Sam picks up, voice getting quieter with each word, because it’s tough recalling those younger years. Difficult to not think about what might have been had their dad not totally sucked at being a father.

“Yeah, like Sammy said,” Dean comes back to himself and winks at Amelia, “rock music for us was a big part of growing up.” Dean smiles and gives Cas a look out of the corner of his eye.

“My love of music was thanks to these two,” Cas states. “We would spend entire afternoons fingering our way through… record collections and—”

“Whose records?” Amelia asks.

“Uhhh…”

“Our _uncle_ had a lot of vinyl, or still does actually, and we use to raid his collection,” Dean answers on behalf of Cas. “We’d spend afternoons listening to the Stones, Deep Purple, Blue Öyster Cult, AC/DC, Bad Company, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Joe Walsh, Kansas, Rush, Black Sabbath, Jefferson Airplane and more.”

Sam’s face lights up and he adds. “Then one Christmas, that same uncle bought us some acoustic guitars from a thrift store and started to teach us how to play. Blues at first—”

”And it went from there.” Dean smiles for the camera.

“What about you, Castiel?”

Ducking his head a little and then looking back to Amelia, Cas tries to figure out a way of answering that doesn’t make him sound like an over achieving asshole. “I started playing for the choir at my church.” _Started playing every damn instrument I could get my hands on._

“Why drums?”

Cas can see it now. The dumb drummer, who’s smashed their way into mental oblivion and only keeps it together when they have a beat being bashed out between their fists, feet driving pedals. Limbs jerking and head thumping so hard that it feels like your neck is going to snap. Too often people ignore the skill involved in bringing life to those taught skins. But to say he’s more than just a drummer? That he’d be equally at home with a guitar between his hands so he can make the fretboard sing? He doesn’t normally like to brag, but he is on national TV.

“I do play drums for Animus, but I actually know how to play a range of musical instruments. I play drums, because those two need to be kept in check.”

Doing his best attempt at looking like a wounded puppy, Sam shakes his head and then nods. “Castiel is telling the truth: we’d be pretty lost without him. I’ve never had the necessary coordination to play drums successfully.”

“Oh, I hear ya,” Amelia replies, _and what is with the way that she is smiling at Sam?_ Cas asks himself and tries not to frown on camera. “But with this new album, tonally, you have to agree that this is darker, more angst filled than your first album.”

Dean and Cas can’t help but notice the way that Sam shifts in his seat. Amelia and the rest of the audience don’t miss it either. Distantly, Dean can hear indistinct whispers from members of the audience. _C’mon Sammy, just give the usual spiel. Doesn’t need to be a damn Oscar acceptance speech._

“Well, we’d just finished our first tour and it had been… eye opening,” Sam starts, nervously pushing a hand through his short wavy hair, “like I thought four years of college had been a rollercoaster. But your first tour? There’s nothing quite like it. You’re not sure if you’re really gonna make it. If there really are fans waiting for you in all these towns and cities across the country.

“A lot of that fear and panic is what I put into writing this second album,” Sam finishes. Dean discreetly checks Amelia out to see if she’s bought the half-lie. If she could tell Sam was lying, she doesn’t show it.

“And what a great album it is,” Amelia says before turning to a different camera. “Coming up next we have a mother who says her son has turned his father into a doll. Plus a look at this season’s must have shades. And Animus will be performing live in the studio!”

Finally it’s safe for them to move and Dean leads the way to a side room that’s filled with refreshments. A small stage area has already been set up with their instruments. Someone comes in and makes sure their mics are off and then Dean starts helping himself to some mini Philly cheesesteaks.

“Dean… what—” Cas asks.

“They're like miniature Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. They're delicious,” Dean replies, piling a bunk onto a paper plate before grabbing a paper napkin. “Seriously, you should try some.”

Sam takes a seat in the corner of the room and Balthazar bustles over to hand him a cup of coffee. “You did good out there.”

Taking the cup of black coffee from Balthazar, Sam can’t quite hide the look of disbelief on his face. “I was traumatized. That does not make me an idiot.”

“Well, quite. I need to make a call. Excuse me.” Balthazar is out of the room so quickly, it’s like he has wings on his feet.

Looking over to Dean, whose mouth is filled with mini Philly cheesesteaks, Sam clears his throat and asks, “You doing okay, man?”

Swallowing, Dean rolls his eyes and sits down next to Sam. “Felt a little uneasy at the start. I dunno, feels kind of more exposed being on live television than in front of thousands of people screaming at you.”

“It’s funny how these things can be,” Cas says, leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed over his chest. “At least on a stage at a concert you can still see the people you’re performing for.”

And maybe it’s this idea of who’s watching them, of who might be keeping tabs on them that’s really sitting uneasily with Dean. Having Becky travel from one side of the country to the other was bad enough. But Mister Hugs? It’s a violation of his life and peace of mind that Dean still isn’t sure how he should handle. _But who the fuck got in? Who the fuck found that bear?_ Dean asks himself as he tries to chill. He doesn’t want to be all riled up before they play on TV, but he’s finding it difficult to reach that spot of calm. He could really do with a distraction, but this isn’t the place and there’s no real time.

Glancing around hopelessly, Dean catches Cas looking at him and Dean knows Cas knows. Cas pinches his lips together in a way that says “later” and Dean tries to take strength from that promise.

***

Long red curtains greet the three of them as they finally stumble into their hotel room. They’ve already told Meg, Benny and Balthazar that they don’t want to be disturbed for the next three hours, unless it’s room service.

Standing in the middle of the room, glancing between Dean and Castiel, Sam’s unsure quite where things are going. Cas gives him and Dean hungry looks that make the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand. They rush at each other, not quite running, coming together, with Cas drawing his arms around Sam and Dean’s waists. Bodies touching and the demanding way that Cas is chasing both Dean and Sam—leaves Sam panting and moaning, head bowed between Dean and Cas’s chests, cock straining against his jeans.

Eager hands suddenly find the hem of Sam’s shirts and tug them off. A rush of chilled air leaves Sam’s skin covered in goosebumps. Deciding that everyone needs to get naked, Sam’s large hands start working at Dean’s shirts and then Castiel’s. Struggling together, they all get undressed, Dean almost falling over when he kicks off his boots.

Still unsure what they’re going to do, heart thumping with excitement, Sam looks to Cas and the drummer eyes him and Dean with a devilish look.

Cas leans in towards Sam and whispers, “Pull him down on top of you. Hold him. Spread him so I can...” Cas lets his voice trail off and he straightens up.

Grabbing Dean by the hand, Sam pulls him towards the suite’s massive bed. They collapse onto its soft sheets and Sam draws Dean on top of him, slotting his legs between Dean’s and spreading them. For a second Dean thinks he might get lost in the warmth those hazel eyes are showing him.

“Tap twice if you need us to stop,” Sam says and then he entwines his arms around Dean, flexing against his brother’s torso as Dean leans on his forearms by Sam’s head. He’s secure. Safe. Nothing can get him here and Dean starts to relax. Mouths meeting, Sam eagerly licks into Dean’s and holds him down tightly against him leaving Dean little room to move. They kiss like this for several minutes, their hard-ons catching against each other with each shift of their hips.

The bed dips a little and Sam knows the moment that Castiel has started caressing Dean’s ass, because his brother tenses and then moans into his mouth. Mattress dipping again, Sam waits and then gets the drag of Dean’s body against him the moment Castiel’s hand strikes the flesh of Dean’s ass.

Breath knocked from him, Dean’s skin stings where Cas struck. Already he feels his own base needs over take the circle jerk of paranoia he’s been feeling since New York. The tingle of blood rushing to the area contrasts with the drag of his dick between himself and Sam. Skin warming all over, Dean draws in a breath through his nose and continues to messily make out with Sam. Again, Cas’s hand comes down against his ass—the physical force and wave of desire that hit him making him rut against Sam.

“So good, Dean, so, so good,” Cas praises, making Dean shudder longingly.

The way Sam’s feet have hooked to the sides of Dean’s legs and spread him leaves him desperate to just grind away, as pre-come slicks his tip. Each impact from Castiel’s hand, as it comes down again and again, teases Dean’s leaking cock. Each strike roughly jolts Dean, causing a slide of skin that leaves him near oblivious to everything but the feel of Sam on his mouth and on his dick, and Cas’s hand on his ass. And then Cas stops.

A cool breath blows along Dean’s burning skin and he pulls off of Sam’s mouth for a moment. Cas gently licks at Dean’s cheeks and Dean nuzzles against Sam’s face in response. Then he cries out as Cas suddenly moves again and strikes him across both cheeks, making Dean’s dick drag against Sam in just the _most_ tantalizing way. He feels the pull of orgasm. Cas’s hand strikes him again just so and Dean whimpers against Sam’s face before his brother brings their mouths together again. The push and pull of his body with another smack makes Dean quiver and he knows he’s going to lose it.

“Beautiful boy,” Cas croons, the strikes paused as the drummer gently strokes the curve of Dean’s flush red ass. And then the hand’s gone.

Air rushes towards his cheeks and then Cas spanks him one last time—Dean comes, crying into Sam’s mouth, vision blurring to nothing.

Distantly, Dean hears more praise from Cas.

Ending their kiss, Sam loosens his arms around Dean and drags in a few deep breaths. The bed moves again. Gently, lovingly, Sam helps Dean move from on top of him, laying him out. But before he can do anything about the cooling come on either of them, Cas is there, lapping at Dean’s stomach and cock, and then his. Tongue warm and featherlight.

“Fuck, Cas,” Sam moans. Cas finishes licking them clean and then kneels beside Sam. Dean’s with it a little more and looks up at the two of them from the pillows. There’s a knowing look in Dean’s eyes that Sam doesn’t quite understand until Cas barrels into him wrestling him down. Cas’s mouth demands entrance, biting Sam’s bottom lip a little and Sam opens to him. Pushing his tongue in, Cas strokes his tongue over Sam’s and Sam tastes the saltiness of Dean’s spend. The memory of Cas groping him in the elevator comes to Sam and he understands what’s going on.

 _Cas was jealous of the way Amelia looked at me. Talked to me! Fuck… maybe I should let women flirt with me more often_ , Sam thinks to himself as Cas rolls their hips together, making Sam moan.

Breaking the kiss, Cas shimmies up Sam’s body so he’s straddling him around his chest. Sam rests his hands on Castiel’s thighs and plants his feet on the bed, bending his legs. Looking over to Dean who’s watching with keen interest, Cas quirks his head towards their cases and asks, “Would you kindly get your brother ready for me?”

From this position, Sam’s view is taken up by Cas’s drooling cock and his toned stomach. Subconsciously, Sam licks his lips and as if drawn by that small movement, Cas is suddenly pressing the tip of his cock against Sam’s mouth.

“You gonna open up for me Sam?” Cas asks, voice rasping with need. Nodding, Sam opens up and Cas gently pushes his way inside, filling Sam’s mouth. Not forcing himself all the way in, Cas lets Sam take him to half his length, the tang of pre-come coating his tongue. Moaning around Cas’s length, Sam starts to suck it like it is a popsicle, making Cas shudder and buck a little.

A sudden pressure at his hole causes Sam to whimper as he feels Dean press a lubed finger against his tight muscles. Dean swears. “Cas, can I touch Sammy? He’s really tense.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas almost fucking purrs. Dean’s grasps Sam’s dick and starts to jerk him as he circles the tip of his finger against Sam’s asshole. Dean’s hand feels almost cool in comparison to the needful heat throbbing through Sam’s length. It’s too much and Sam bucks his hips into the contact and then against intrusion at his hole, all while sucking on Cas. Naturally, Sam begins to accept Dean’s finger and soon his brother is scissoring him open with two.

“That’s it Sam, want you to open up for us. Wanna fuck you and fill you. Mark you. And you’re gonna be a good boy. Aren’t you?”

Sam nods around Cas’s length.

What must be a third finger finally enters Sam and he can’t help his reaction of pushing down towards his brother—as best he can with Cas on top of him. Dean chuckles and gives him a couple of short quick tugs on his dick. “Cas, Sammy’s ready.”

Pulling himself out of Sam’s mouth, Cas looks down to Sam. “I want you on all fours.” Cas climbs off of him as Dean gets out of the way, fingers suddenly gone and leaving Sam feeling empty.

Doing as he’s been told, Sam flips himself over and gets on all fours, dick heavy below him. Cas sidles up behind Sam and strokes his hands down Sam’s flank and then he’s pushing the lubed tip of his cock against Sam’s hole. Dean’s done his job though and it doesn’t take much for Cas to breach that first ring of tight muscle and slowly slide into place, filling Sam. Jointly they groan as Cas bottoms out.

Catching Dean’s eyes, Cas can’t help smiling at the sight of the older Winchester hardening again at the sight of him inside his brother. The tight heat that surrounds Cas’s length is maddeningly good, but he doesn’t want to go straight into what he’s been imagining since first meeting Amelia. Bending over Sam’s back, Cas kisses Sam and licks him, tasting his sweat. Gently he pulls out a little and shallowly thrusts back in, making Sam whimper.

“Cas, please, please... fuck me,” Sam begs and looks over his shoulder at Cas. And damn, Cas has never been able to hold out long to those pleading looks both brothers like to give him. _Sam, fine, you asked for it._. Slowly drawing himself out, Cas almost pulls completely free of Sam before slamming himself back in and groaning in pleasure.

“FUCK!” Sam swears and that’s it. Strong arms grasping Sam from behind, Cas pulls Sam’s tall frame up against his chest and pistons his hips. Fucking up into Sam. Claiming him as he holds him close, biting down on Sam’s shoulder, making Sam clench around him. Sam shouts as Cas draws blood, the unmistakable coppery tang on his tongue making Cas hum. He pulls off and licks the bruised, reddening bite.

“Are… you…” Cas says between thrusts, “going… to… come… for… me… Sam?” He speeds up, strong hands holding Sam tight.

In response Sam shudders and shouts, shooting spurts of come across the bed sheets and over his stomach. Burying his face in Sam’s hair and breathing him in, that unique scent of books, ink and zingy apple that’s _just_ Sam—Cas yells and cries, finally pumping his spill into Sam. Claiming his lover.

There’s a grunt and muffled shout from Dean on the other side of the bed, and as Cas and Sam slouch forward a little, Cas catches Dean spurting thickly over the sheets. Cas pulls out of Sam and kisses him gently on the mouth before getting off the bed on wobbly legs to find washcloths to clean them all up.

“What got into you Cas?” Sam calls from the bed as Cas pokes around in the en suite.

Returning with damp cloths, Cas takes in the post sex beauty of Dean and Sam. Bodies slick with sweat, messed up hair. Licking his lips and shrugging his shoulders, Cas replies, “I didn’t like the way Amelia looked at you.”

Sam laughs and for a while everything feels not just normal again, but good.

***

Cigarette burning between his fingers, a man shuffles through the pile of newspapers he’s hefted onto the desk in his hotel room. The newspapers are more than two decades old, local papers. All with eerily similar front covers.

“Still so much work to do. But damnit, John. We’re gonna have to speed things up a little. Twitchy bastard,” the man mutters to himself.

The man gazes upon the photographed burnt out shells of homes adorning the papers. Each front page minutely different. The names of the families that had lived in those homes never quite the same. All from different towns and cities. A different six month old baby in each.

Loss of life varied.

Families that recovered or became forever broken.

Taking a long draw on the cigarette, the man shakes his head and strokes a photo of a house in Saginaw, Michigan. Its top floor windows are blacked out by soot. “Having to rush things a little, John. Didn’t think you’d ever get this close. But damn, look at what you can do when you kick the booze.”

A cell vibrates in the man’s shirt pocket and he pulls it out. Flipping the cell open, he sees a text message. It is good news for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I don't have actual art for the second album, I just wanted to do something that was like an alternative cover to the one previously described.


	5. Distance

Three hundred people are sat or standing on the other side of the double doors. The Four Horsemen has a full house tonight, every single ticket holder having paid a great deal for the privilege to be there. Dean can hear them talking on the other side. A low hubbub of noise that makes him both nervous and excited—arms covered in goosebumps. Tonight he is focused. He is going to give these people a night to remember, not because they’ve paid for the privilege, but because he is determined to give the middle finger to the fucker who broke on to their bus.

_I am not going to be intimidated in my own house_ , Dean decides as he places a hand on a well marked wooden door. What must have been red paintwork at some point is scarred and pitted, covered in inks of varying shades. A slice of history held up in a doorframe, littered with names big and small, from Jagger to Hendrix, Kiss to CCR. For a moment, Dean wonders if he were to just take both doors down and grind them into sawdust, he could sell it as instant talent. _Just add water, apply to hands or neck. Leave overnight for best results,_ he jokes to himself. Checking his ear piece a second, Dean goes back to feeling the door.

A hand comes down on either shoulder, their weights different, though Dean’s probably the only person in the entire world who can tell the difference. The touch sends a charge through his deep red shirt and makes him suck in air and crack his neck.

“You ready?” Cas asks Dean and Sam.

“We still starting with the acoustic version of “Subject Cut”? Because I really think they’ll get a kick out of it,” Sam asks.

“That’s the plan.” Dean looks behind him to Sam and then Cas.

“Are you ready?” Cas asks again.

“Yes,” Sam replies with a nod.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, touching a name he didn’t expect to find carved into the wood, pointer finger tracing a C, an O and then a B before an A, “let’s kick some ass.” Dean lifts his finger from the wood and powers on past the doors.

The noise that was hardly being held back by the doors amps up an excited notch as the three of them step out into the bar proper. Meg and Benny are out beside Dean, Sam and Cas, making sure no one steps past the velvet ropes separating the immediate stage area from the rest of the club. Dean nervously glances out into the small sea of people and doesn’t immediately recognize anyone, which he’s going to take as a good sign.

Taking to the small stairs that lead up onto the stage, Dean waves at their fans as he heads straight to his collection of instruments. There’s his usual keyboard and electric guitar gathered together, but this time there’s his favorite acoustic as well. The vintage Epiphone acoustic was about as old as his dad’s car. It had belonged to Bobby and he’d given it to Dean on his twenty-first birthday. It still played beautifully.

Picking up the maple wood guitar, and pulling the strap over his over, Dean couldn’t help smiling. He had a lot of good memories with this guitar. He’d written a song for Sammy’s eighteenth on it. Used it at his first gig after college. Serenaded Cas with it one time last Christmas after they’d had a little disagreement—that memory warms Dean’s cheeks a little. Yeah, he had a lot of good memories with this guitar and as he stood up to his microphone, Dean hoped he was about to make some more.

“Good evening D.C.!” Dean calls into his microphone and gets a round of whoops and clapping. A short guy with black hair, standing at the front, shouts “right on” and Dean winks at him. “It’s good to see you folks this evening. I hope you don’t mind this cosy rendezvous, but when you’re invited to play at The Four Horsemen? You play at the Horsemen. You don’t say no. You say yes.”

More cheers and whoops follow and Dean lines his hands up on his fret board. “You say yes and you hope that you hold back the end of times. Pray that you don’t unleash a plague, but instead bury the lot of ya in sounds that sooth the soul. Energize your very being. And make you wanna come back for more!”

That’s Castiel’s cue and a gentle beat on a synth begins. Whispering to Dean and Sammy’s fingers, Dean leads while Sam follows as they both play on their acoustics. Dean follows the chords and the beats, Cas starting on the rest of his skins, mentally waiting for the time to bring in his voice. _Now._

“Pull me in. Help me unlearn these ways. Give me a chance to forget. Don’t give in, when I give up. Take me away. Demand I change. Don’t leave me alone. Command me to forget,” Dean sings, voice deep and melodic. A couple of people in the audience quietly sing along with him.

Sam joins Dean in the chorus. “Here and now. Let us make a difference. Hold us to be better. I need this. My life is falling away.”

Melancholic tones drifting out into the bar, Dean can’t help looking at the faces in the crowd. Catching their reactions as they hear the words straight from their mouths, feel the chords and the beat. The expressions they wear: faces crinkled in concentration, some in joy and others in surprise—leaves Dean feeling like they’re delivering a revelation of truth that should be taken into the soul. Nurtured. Allowed to burst through the earth and bloom.

The song ends and Dean graciously accepts the cheers that the audience lays on. Their enjoyment sinking into his skin and making his heart lighter, his mind more determined. Switching to his keyboard and checking the settings, Dean waits for Sam to follow and then his brother nods he’s ready. Dean’s fingers begin their dance, Cas’s drums begin afresh and Sam’s loping bass comes in as they break into “Fresh Essential”.

Even now, as their audience drinks up their sounds, Dean sometimes expects for someone to boo. To hurl something at their heads. Maybe if this had been four years ago and they were still playing in small bars in South Dakota, the three of them would be getting the full “gig experience”. But the prestige of The Four Horsemen keeps the hecklers at bay. No one goes there to hate on music or the people called by it to give it life on stage. By their fifth song, Dean is sure this is nothing like their first few times on stage, despite the similar size of the location.

Working onto the title track of their latest album, Dean plays into the instrumental intro, fingers whizzing up and down his electric Gibson Memphis Les Paul. This time it’s Sam’s turn to bring in the lyrics and Dean waits for the usual feelings “Root of Harmony” tends to drag out of him. He’s not been able to decide if it’s the words or the way Sam sings the song that always leave him feeling like he’s back in hospital with Sam, waiting for the sedatives to wear off so he can talk to him. Beg with him to not try again what he did.

“Hiding in the past. As if the now doesn’t matter,” Sam sings and Dean imagines each line of the tattoo on Sammy’s arm is furling into life, crawling across his skin as he backs him up with haunted strings, “Heaven doesn’t care, because it won’t take me now.”

Only Dean’s highly attuned hearing picks up the slight falter in Sam’s bass as he starts the chorus, “Why did you have to ask? There was never anything to see. You don’t know me.”

The song doesn’t call for any backing vocals and while this is normally fine, Dean’s eyes wander the audience again, looking upon them more closely than he has before. He scans the unfamiliar faces, giving the short haired “right on” guy another wink, until he reaches the back of the venue. Standing taller than anyone else, Dean thinks he’s imagining things as he catches sight of black peppered hair and a closely cut beard.

But there’s no mistaking the efficient set of those shoulders, the military like tension that runs through those arms—folded behind John’s back.

Their absent father is here, in The Four Horsemen and Dean’s fucking praying that Sam hasn’t seen him. Isn’t going to see him. As Sam’s melancholic voice carries out over the speakers, Dean can’t help the bitterness that hardens his own stance, the irony of their dad being there for this song making his stomach hurt and his head ache. John Winchester has no right in being within a mile of them, as far as Dean’s concerned. No right to be there right now and watching them.

Thank god they manage to make it through their entire set list before Sam’s hands and voice falters.

They don’t manage an encore.

***

To say it’s taking Castiel all the restraint he has to not leave Benny’s side—as he holds an ice pack to the side of Benny’s head inside the changing room of The Four Horsemen—is an understatement. But he’s already agreed with himself to let Dean try and handle John Winchester before he gets involved.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT FUCKING EXCUSE YOU HAVE COOKED UP THIS TIME! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME. WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE, JOHN!” Dean seethes at his father.

The gig had been going so well, but the second Sam had begun to have problems with the final set, Cas knew something was wrong. He just hadn’t expected it to be this epically wrong.

“If you’d just stop shouting for a moment, I can explain—”

“You hit our goddamn security guy, DAD! By all rights, Benny should be pressing charges, but the damn fool has a bigger heart than you. But if you don’t get the hell out of here in ten seconds then I’m gonna call the police!” Dean’s anger is palpable.

In one corner of the room, Meg and Balthazar are shielding Sam. Neither Benny, Meg or Balthazar know what the real beef between John and his boys is, but there’d been little room in anyone’s heads to think that they should be excused.

“I’m sorry, I thought… I thought he was _him_ ,” John replies.

“Who the hell could you possibly think Benny is that you need to go… AND HIT HIM IN THE SIDE OF THE HEAD WITH A GODDAMN BASEBALL BAT?!”

Despite Dean’s shouting, John straightens himself. “I’ve been tracking the… the person responsible for your mother’s death.”

“And didn’t you ever think about— wait, what?”

“The person… man… I believe caused the fire that killed your mother. I’ve been investigating him since the spring. Tracking him.”

“How on Earth have you been able to play detective?”

John gives a tight smile. “I’m off the booze, son.”

“Well good for you—you don’t get to call me son after what happened at Bobby’s. Do you understand? I don’t care what stupid delusions you think you can use to force yourself into our lives again, but you don’t belong here. Sam doesn’t need anymore of your crap and neither do I.

“There’s no way after more than twenty years that you’ve managed to do what the police never could. So why don’t you hightail it back to Lawrence and never speak to us again. Like you promised.”

Cas is about to say something when a door slams shut behind him. Turning his head, hoping he’s not about to see what he is, Cas finds that Sam has left Meg and Balthazar.

“ ** _Dean,_** ” is all Cas has to say to send the older brother chasing after Sam.

***

Once upon a time, it had been Sam who’d be the one to have all the massive blowout arguments with John. Now as Sam storms down from The Four Horsemen, he’s not sure if he enjoys this change in affairs. Sure, he could have done without his father turning up tonight, but he can’t shake the feeling that maybe his dad is telling the truth. That he has cleaned up his act. That he’s really on the trail of the sick bastard responsible for Mary’s death.

The night had started out muggy, but now as Sam comes to sit upon a bench at a bus stop, he quickly finds himself starting to shiver. It’s still warm, but the emotional shock he’s feeling is making it feel as if Dean’s hoodie is nothing. In other news: he’d realized not long after leaving that he’d left his cell back on the tour bus.

If John were telling the truth… _Maybe he does deserve the benefit of a doubt?_ Sam ponders until his his left thumb finds the scar on his right wrist. The scar hidden on sight, but still raised enough for Sam to find through touch. Tears prick at Sam’s eyes as he rubs at the scar. For him the wound is always fresh, always a reminder of what he tried in his bedroom at Bobby’s last year.

“He always blamed me too,” Sam whispers to himself. The drunken accusations from his childhood surfacing. _It’s your—hiccc—fault she died! Wouldn’t—hiccc—been in there if you—hiccc—hadn’t cried out!_ A tear slides down Sam’s cheek.

_So you rather I died?_

_Woulda—hiccc—saved her!_

“Hey, you doing alright there?” Asks a woman.

Wiping his tears away, Sam looks to the woman who’s now sitting next to him. Her brown eyes are warm and welcoming, cute face framed by long brown hair. She doesn’t seem cold in her shirt, leather jacket and jeans. “Sorry… just having a bad night.”

The woman smiles and pats him gently on the shoulder. “Ruby.”

“S-Sam.”

“You’re not really waiting for a bus are you, Sam?” Ruby asks. There’s something familiar about her, but Sam can’t quite put his finger on it.

An anxious laugh bubbles out of Sam and he shakes his head. “What gave it away?”

“You look kinda lost. Like a lost puppy.”

Sighing, Sam pushes a hand through his hair and tries to calm down. “Sounds about right... Don’t suppose you know the way back to The Four Horsemen?”

Treating Sam to a warm smile that draws Sam in, Ruby winks at him. “Sure do. Want me to walk you back there?”

Not for a second does Sam think it’s odd that a woman, all by herself, is willing to walk him back to a bar in the middle of the night. Getting up from the bus stop bench, Sam allows himself to be led back down the street he remembers running along some ten minutes earlier. He has to halve his stride for every step Ruby takes.

“So, Sam… what do you do?” Ruby asks conversationally.

Sam can can see the tour bus looming in the distance. “I’m, uh, the bassist for Animus.”

Ruby walks ahead of Sam and turns around, stopping in front of him. “Get out of town. You’re a member of _Animus_? I’ve been hearing “Fresh Essential” all over the radio.”

Gaze drifting down to the floor, Sam doesn’t feel Ruby’s enthusiasm. “Yeah. I wrote that.”

“It’s a great song,” Ruby says and then turns around to continue walking down the street. Sam follows.

_Yeah…_ Sam stops as he sees the familiar figure of Dean jogging towards him.

“Sam?!” Dean yells.

“That’s my brother and,” Sam points, “my tour bus. Thanks for helping me get back to them.”

Flashing Sam a smile as she turns around, Ruby purses her lips and then asks. “Um… could I get your number?”

It’s a question that Sam gets asked a lot. Like a sensible celeb he doesn’t normally give his number out and he’s not about to start now. “Tell you what, um, if you call my manager, Balthazar Milton, his number’s on our website, he’ll put you through to me. Okay?”

Looking disappointed for all of a second, Ruby then says, “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll see you again. Bye, Sam.”

Before Dean can reach him, Ruby’s slipped off somewhere and Sam is trying not to feel like running again. The closer Dean gets, though, the more Sam can see of the panic in Dean’s eyes under the streetlamps.

“SHIT! Sammy!” Catching up to Sam, Dean stops and tries to get his breath back. “Why’d you... run off like that?”

“I—I…” _Couldn’t stand the shouting. Being with dad made me want to… want to do things again._ Sam doesn’t need to say any of these things though, because Dean sees it in his eyes.

“C’mere,” Dean says softly and then suddenly his big brother’s arms are holding Sam tight. And for the first time since the gig Sam feels safe. The strength and warmth that Dean is willing into him makes Sam hug his brother back. Sam nuzzles into Dean’s neck and breathes in Dean’s scent—sandalwood, leather and cloves. They’re alone in the street and Sam brings his mouth to Dean’s, gently kissing him.

A strong hand grips the front of the hoodie Sam’s wearing and pulls him closer. Dean deepens the kiss, tongue gently teasing its way into Sam’s mouth. Quietly, Sam moans happily into Dean’s mouth and kisses him back.

“So you’re still fucking?” John asks, voice hard and angry.

Sam didn’t even know Dean could pivot and swing his right fist that fast.


	6. Lies

If the changing room had felt small an hour earlier, it was punishingly tiny now. Now it’s just a mad dash to grab their things and leave the night behind, move on to their next destination. Get the hell out of dodge and hightail it out of The Four Horsemen. Except no one’s moving fast enough and Dean wants to scream and grab everyone, keep his eyes off of John, and ice his fist back on the bus. _C’mon, we need out of here._

“Could I have a moment in private with my so— Sam and Dean, please?” John asks from the corner he’s been shoved into. Dean doesn’t want to give him anymore time. Doesn’t want to fuck up his hands more than he already has. It’s gonna be a bitch to play in Cincinnati—but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Just punch John and storm off, Sam’s hand in his.

“Dean…” Benny looks over to him with wary eyes. He can still see the obvious pain that Benny’s in and Dean just wants to hit his dad all over again, but that’s not the answer to Benny’s question. Their head of security, their only security, cares about them and Dean knows this.

“Is our gear back on the bus?” Dean asks Balthazar.

“Yes.”

“Then give us five, but Cas stays. And then we’re leaving,” Dean answers. Meg and Balthazar nod, Meg helping Benny get to his feet.

“I’ll wait down the hall,” Balthazar says as he stands in the doorway, “any trouble, just yell.” Their manager stalks out, the door closing behind him.

Now just the four of them, Dean stalks over to John and towers over his father who remains seated. Cas and Sam shuffle in behind him. Dean’s plenty angry for all three of them, and he reflexively makes a fist with his right hand. Jabbing heat crackles through Dean’s knuckles as he keeps his hand curled, but even the pain won’t warn him off taking another swing at his dad if he needs to.

“You shouldn’t be together.”

“You’re like a broken record. We get it. You don’t approve. No one’s gonna approve. But we’re consenting adults, _John_ ,” Dean replies, not giving their father the pleasure of hearing him say “dad”, “so just stow your crap.”

John’s swollen jaw flinches. “Damnit Dean, you abu—”

“ _We waited!_ ” Dean seethes. “I waited. And waited. I may not be your perfect son, but I ain’t no molester, so whatever sick nightmare you’ve been cooking up in your own head? You can stop. I waited until Sam was eighteen. So don’t you dare try to say that I coerced Sam before he was old enough.” _When he’s the one who, as soon I finished playing the song I’d written for his eighteenth birthday, made me put down my guitar and then kissed me._

Sam presses against Dean’s left side and Dean instinctively wraps his arm around his brother. The weight of Sam against his side is reassuring, but Dean can feel an awakening anger beside him as Cas stays silent. _I shouldn’t have bothered to give him the time of day,_ Dean thinks as he stares down at his dad.

“That—” John stops and turns his attention to Castiel. “What about you? Huh? How can you—”

Dean instinctively steps back as Cas steps forward. “I love them both.”

“But they’re... it’s… Can’t you see it’s...” John doesn’t say the words, but Dean can fill in the blanks. _Wrong. Incest. Unnatural._

“You’re really not going to suddenly change our minds, Mister Winchester. I suggest you either reign in whatever,” Cas waves his hand vaguely in the air, “this is, and either tell Sam and Dean more of why you’re here... Or let us depart.”

John huffs out a long breath and looks sullenly up at the three of them. “Fine,” John forces out. “I was telling the truth earlier, when I said I had been tracking down the monster who killed their mother.” John gingerly touches at the puffed out skin on the side of his jaw. There’s a deep satisfaction for Dean to see the man flinch, but it would never be enough to repay what he had dragged Sam towards last summer.

“You said. Why come here to tell them this? Surely a phone call would have sufficed?” Cas says, crossing his arms.

“They wouldn’t have taken a call from me.”

“Then you could have told Bobby.”

Squirming in his seat, John looks away, ashamed. “Bobby doesn’t exactly take my calls now either.”

“Well there’s a fucking surprise,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“HE’S COMING FOR YOU!” John shouts, jumping up from his seat. “I DON’T KNOW WHY, YET, BUT HE’S COMING FOR YOU. BOTH OF YOU.”

Stomach turning icy, Dean’s face twitches. He doesn’t want to believe his father. There’s too many times when he’s lied. Lied that he’s stopped drinking. Lied about having a job. Lied about being home for Dean and Sammy after school. Lies and incompetence are what landed them in Bobby’s house, permanently, in the first place.

 _But the bear_ , pipes up a voice in Dean’s head. “Where is he?” Dean asks calmly.

“I— I thought he might be here tonight, but he wasn’t.”

 _What if John put Mister Hugs on the bus?_ “Were you following us in New York?”

It’s small, but there’s a tick to John’s jaw before he replies. “No,” he says in a flat voice.

Shaking his head, Dean lets out a long sigh. “You’re a piece of work. You know that, right? It’s just lies, lies and more lies with you. Always has been. Always will be.” Dean turns away from John and tugs at Sam and Cas to follow him towards the door. “We’re done here.”

“But that doesn’t mean that one of his—” John calls after them as they power through the back of The Four Horsemen, heading for the rear exit. Balthazar is waiting for them and leads the way out of the building. They don’t hear John finish his sentence, calling, “Followers wasn’t there,” after them.

***

Heading down the interstate, Cas has a brother on either shoulder. Dean on his left and Sam on his right. They’re asleep on the large couch at the back, but Castiel is not. Adrenaline from the concert and the confrontation with John still courses through him and he wishes he could work it out of his system. Further down the bus, Meg is keeping an eye on Benny, and she earlier informed them that he definitely doesn’t have a concussion, which is a small relief. Cas is holding an ice pack to Dean’s knuckles, only a tiny bit concerned that his playing ability will be affected.

What is worrying Cas though, is the possibility that for the first time since he’s known John Winchester that the man could be telling the truth. All too well, Cas remembers the school vacations where John promised to take the boys for a day out, but never turned up at Bobby’s. Morning would become afternoon and Castiel’s mom would get a call from Bobby asking if Cas would like to come over and play with Dean and Sam. John saying he would visit and then never turning up to spend time with his estranged sons had been a mainstay of his time growing up with Dean and Sam.

Believing John Winchester is hard when you’ve lived through his lies and let downs. Yet there had been a quality to the way John spoke that left Cas wondering that maybe something is afoot. _After all, what about Dean’s bear?_ Cas ponders for a moment, but even he can’t help accepting the possibility that John somehow put it on their tour bus as some kind of ruse to get closer to his sons.

So much of Castiel’s time with Dean and Sam over the years had been spent watching the brothers be hurt by their father. He never once saw him hit his sons, but the way his words and inaction cut into them was as effective as any blade. He hadn’t even managed to stay sober enough to see either of the. graduate highschool or college.

The curtain separating the rear section of the bus from the rest is pulled back a little and Balthazar pokes his head around. Seeing Castiel awake, Balthazar heads over and holds onto the nearby bunks for balance.

“How are they?” Balthazar asks quietly, a genuine look of concern on his face.

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not sure… we’re on tour and…”

“And it’s as if the shit has started to hit the fan. I know you boys just want to play your music and…” Balthazar’s voice trails off a little and leaves Cas wondering, _does he know?_ “But what if John Winchester is telling the truth? Listen, I hate being paranoid, but I’m thinking of hiring on some extra help. Money’s not an issue.”

“You heard John shouting, then?”

Flashing a grim smile at Cas, Balthazar nods and then shrugs. “That was the only part I heard. Even if it’s actually… John... we clearly need more muscle around here than just Benny to help keep you three safe. So, I’m going to make a call. Alright?”

The sincerity with which Balthazar asks reminds Castiel that despite how much of a party animal their manager can be, he does give a damn about them and his job. Castiel nods yes and then yawns.

“Good. Try to get some sleep.” Balthazar turns and heads back to the front of the bus, pulling the curtain across once more.

In his sleep, Sam draws an arm over Castiel’s stomach and then Dean does the same. Both brothers nuzzle against his neck as they cuddle him and Cas finally lets go some of the tension from that night. Closing his eyes as he remains in Sam and Dean’s embrace, Castiel drifts off to sleep.

***

Another city. Another hotel. Neck and shoulders sore from staying on the couch rather than heading into the bunks on the bus, Sam tries to stretch and move his neck and shoulders. But they just pop and creak instead. They had most of the day to themselves before a radio show appearance and then their Cincinnati concert in Bogie’s.

“I heard that,” Dean mumbles from his spot on their bed. The second they’d gotten into the room, Dean had kicked off his boots and collapsed into the bed, fully dressed.

“I could go see a massage therapist before tonight,” Sam suggests out loud. And then Cas’s strong confident hands are on his shoulders and rubbing them through his shirts.

“Or you could let me help you out?” Castiel whispers and Sam lets out a happy sigh as Castiel’s thumbs expertly press into the knots at the base of his neck. That’s all the convincing Sam needs to let Cas take the seat cushions from a couch in their room and put them out on the floor before covering them with towels. Stripping off completely, Sam tries not to think of anything when he finally settles on the cushions, face down. Castiel straddles Sam below his butt, skin on skin.

Expecting dry hands, Sam’s a little surprised when Castiel’s hands glide over his skin, bringing a vanilla scent with them. “When’d you pick up massage oil?” Sam practically purrs.

“Never you mind,” Cas murmurs in reply and pushes his hands up from the base of Sam’s spine, all the way up to Sam’s shoulder blades.

“Mmmmm, I knew there was a reason why I liked you,” Sam mumbles, body relaxing under Castiel’s touch.

“I knew you only loved me for my hands,” Cas teases.

“They’re very, mmmm…” Sam huffs out a breath as Cas starts working a particularly tough knot near his shoulders, “skilled hands… I really do appreciate them.”

“You know they’re attached to a person, right?” Cas asks in a mock hurt voice.

“Yes, well the person they are attached to is very nice and skilled too… Incredibly handsome. Loving. Generous. I do… mmmmm, hope he knows this.” Sam’s completely boneless, body giving into Castiel’s hands needling into the right places with the right amount of pressure. Cas’s hands are relentless, driving all other thoughts from Sam’s mind, making him focus in the here and now.

Pain leaving his neck and shoulders, Sam gives a surprised but pleased shudder as Castiel’s hands dip lower and start working against his ass. Thumbs working up the curve of his cheeks, spreading him apart a little, Sam lets out a low groan, but Sam wants something else.

“Cas…” Sam moans, tilting his head to look over his shoulder back at the drummer.

“What do you want, Sam?” Cas asks, eyes dark, hard cock bobbing in front of him.

Sam shifts his left arm and holds it out behind him towards Cas. “You. Please.”

Carefully, Cas climbs off of Sam. Cas moves and Dean lets out a loud snore. The two of them share a fond smile as they look over at him asleep before focusing on each other. Helping Sam turn over, revealing Sam’s own hardness, Cas covers Sam’s naked body with his own and starts to kiss the younger Winchester. Cocks rubbing against each other, they kiss slowly and gently. There’s no rush, for once.

Cas strokes Sam’s side as licks his way into Sam’s mouth. Sam yields to it all. Gives into the older man, because he trusts and loves him. They make out and lazily grind against each other, bodies working together. It’s sweet and calming, a balm against everything that’s happened since last night’s gig. Sam finds himself thankful for the tenderness that Cas is bestowing upon him.

Reaching down between the two of them, Sam takes himself and Cas in hand, shuddering under his own touch. Pre-come is steadily beading at the tips of their cocks and Sam slowly pushes his thumb through the mess before starting to stroke them together.

“I don’t know what I would do without you and Dean,” Sam whispers against Castiel’s cheek as he pulls away for some air. “I love you both so much.”

Cas kisses Sam on the cheek and starts to rut into his hand. “Don’t want to think about it. I love both of you so much too.”

“Thanks for… y’know,” Sam mutters, starting to push up into his own hand. _Thanks for putting up with all of our crap._

“Sam, being with… the two of you... is better than anything I... could have asked for,” Cas says a little breathlessly before sealing his mouth over Sam’s again. Distantly, Sam hears the bed shift, springs moving, but then Castiel takes all of his attention back to the two of them. Dragging it back to the heat of his body, the push and pull of their languid, but increasingly needy touches.

Tongues fighting for dominance, Sam speeds his hand up as he strokes them towards release. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Hand squeezing them both below their heads before sliding up and then down again. Cas pushes a hand into Sam’s hair and tugs it, body quaking above his. They’re both so close, almost there. Sam knows Cas is from the way his thighs are now trembling. And then a familiar pull inside him has Sam shouting into Castiel’s mouth, trying not to wake Dean up, as his orgasm hits.

Castiel swallows their cries as they both come over each other’s stomachs. Energy fled, Cas flops down beside Sam and they curl up together for a moment. And suddenly a second set of hands is on Sam, urging him to his feet, and he looks up to see Dean smirking down at the two of them. Sam can’t help notice how Dean’s flies are open.

“C’mon, bed,” Dean orders.

Reluctantly, Sam and Cas get up from the couch cushions and follow Dean to the huge bed. Dean disappears a moment to the bathroom and then comes back with a wash cloth. Cleaning them up, Dean showers them with kisses.

“You watched us,” Cas states, climbing into the bed.

Blushing, Dean strips off his own clothes. “You two are hot together. I can’t not watch. And… y’know.”

Sam shakes his head and gives Dean a smile. Burrowing down under the bed covers, Sam allows himself be the little spoon for once, with Dean holding him from the behind and Cas tucked in close facing his front. The three of them fall asleep pretty quickly. In a few hours they’d be guests on a local station before heading straight over to their concert.

***

Coffee cup in hand, Benny sips the warm java and scowls as he looks down the hallway towards the hotel room Animus are currently in. His head is still throbbing from its recent encounter with a baseball bat and he really wishes Balthazar had just told him to kick the boys’ father to the curb. Not on account of his own personal injury, well not entirely, more because he didn’t like to see Dean and Sam so upset.

Flexing his shoulders beneath his white dress shirt, Benny wipes away a spot of dust on his black dress slacks. He’s not as crisply turned out as he would like to be while on the job, but he’d been too worried about the boys to do a quick dress change when they got to the hotel. Normally he’d be in his own room by now, but the whole thing with John had put him on edge.

Balthazar telling him on the bus what John had said, about the man who had reportedly caused the death of Dean and Sam’s mother had set Benny on high alert. And he was glad when Balthazar said he was going to bring in Rudy to help out. Benny knew Rudy from way back, so he’s looking forward to teaming up with Rudy once they hit Chicago.

Sighing, Benny takes another sip of coffee. Familiar footsteps approach and Meg comes into view from the stairwell, a bag of something that smells good and her own cup of coffee.

“Why don’t you take the elevator like a normal person?” Benny muses as he’s handed a wrapped quesadilla that’s already making his mouth water.

“How else am I meant to get some exercise when we’re spending half our days on a damn bus, huh?” Meg asks, shaking her curls out of the way so she can eat without getting hair in her food.

“Fair.”

Meg sits at Benny’s feet and leans against his legs, putting her coffee down, she unwraps her own quesadilla. “All quiet on the western front?”

“For now,” Benny replies, taking a bite of his food and enjoying the tang of spiced chicken that brushes over his tongue.

“Do you think Winchester senior was the telling the truth?”

Benny swallows. It was obvious the boys didn’t think he was, but Benny’s not paid to take orders from his charges. He’s paid to keep them safe, from others and their own stupidity. “Hard to say, but I’m glad Rudy’s joining us at the next stop.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Meg says, hosting her cup of coffee into the air and making a toast with no one before taking a sip.


	7. Involved

The weight of Dean’s amulet against his chest—bronze-gold nestled above his black t-shirt—reassures him as the three of them step into a broadcast booth at the rock station. Recording studios were roomier and than this and Dean tries to remember that it’s only going to be a short appearance. Nothing as intense as that crap back in D.C..

Annie Hawkins, the show’s presenter, stands up and greets them, shaking their hands as they file into the tight space. Charcoal grey, spongy soundproofing surrounds them on three sides and a window on the fourth. There’s a lot of equipment here Dean recognizes from when they’ve worked on recording their albums, but there’s a lot more he’s not so familiar with.

Dean takes in Annie, and her Zeppelin band shirt and jeans. Long hair tied back in a plait behind her head, Dean can’t help thinking that Bobby knew an Annie Hawkins back in the day, who’d played guitar and sang with a couple of bands. _Wait, could she be_ the _Annie_?

In a booth facing the one they’re all crowded into, Dean can see the show’s producer who had greeted them once they’d been brought up to the studio. The producer signals to Annie.

“Okay, headsets on guys,” says Annie taking her chair. Dean sits closest to Annie, with Cas on his right and Sam on Cas’s right. They’ve each got a cardioid radio mic poised near their mouths, pop shields at the ready.

There’s a silent countdown and then the show is back from its ad break. Annie motors away, letting her listeners know what’s coming up for the remainder of the show and then it’s time for introductions.

“And today, in the studio, I am joined by the chart topping Animus! Say hello, guys.”

Dean, Cas and Sam try to say hi as cheerily as they can. It’s not their first guest appearance on radio, but it’s a side of show business that Dean’s not that interested in. Sure, radio isn’t as intimidating as TV, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s happy to be answering a range of questions covering their music and personal lives. Letting other people in just a small bit. And maybe he still feels like they were too exposed back on that Amelia woman’s talk show—Dean just isn’t in the headspace needed to feel much like talking to strangers.

At the bottom of this, Dean just doesn’t want to be reflecting on anything. The last thing he wants to be doing is going all pensieve and putting things under the magnifying glass, especially when so much weird is following them around these days.

“So what inspired your latest album, guys? It’s got a really heavy tone compared to your debut.”

The same old question. It’s Castiel that fields it this time and Dean’s grateful, because he’s not so sure about having Sam open up again after everything that’s happened those past few nights.

“You must know how it is, Annie, going on tour for months on end for the first time. It’s a wealth of new experiences.”

 _Hell, she is that Annie!_ Dean realizes as the presenter nods knowingly along to Castiel’s words.

“And when you’re finally back home, with thousands of miles of road behind you, knowing that you have to rekindle the fire and start it all again… So much happens on tour that it seems wrong not to draw upon all that. The late nights. New friends. Hangovers from hell. The ones that got away…”

“Are you saying that some hearts may have been broken the last time the three of you were on the road?” Annie gives them a conspiratorial wink and Dean resists the urge to sigh on air. Of course it’s expected that men like them would be taking a one night stand in every city, fucking groupies and generally finding fresh lays at every opportunity. To the public, the members of Animus are all single and available.

“There might have been,” Cas replies vaguely. “Maybe ours.”

Annie gives them all a sympathetic look and the lie has been bought.

“Now, c’mon, you must have some horror stories. What’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you while on tour?”

 _Finding a burned up teddy bear on my bunk. Being spied on by my estranged father? I dunno… Normal horror story it is..._ “Okay, so,” Dean begins, “Sam got big into making his own milkshakes from scratch during our last tour. We had a pretty basic bus though, so he’d have to wait to take his food processor to our hotel rooms before he would make them—”

“Aww, c’mon Dean, they don’t wanna hear about this,” Sam moans. Only Dean and Cas know the protest isn’t genuine.

“No, the public deserves to know your terrible record with dairy… So, obviously these milkshakes needed milk. But we didn’t always have the time to head to the store when we rolled into town. But one time somebody didn’t store his gallon of full fat properly. And let me tell you: you get use to a lot of bad smells touring. It’s close quarters. It’s nights sweating on stages under lights and exerting yourself. Sometimes hours before you can have a shower.

“But milk that’s gone sour in the back of a bus over a day? Someone fool spills it? That’s a circle of hell no one should have to walk through. We had to keep the windows on the bus open for three days before there was any real let up in the stench.”

Annie laughs as if almost on cue and Sam delivers a bitchface that Dean may come to regret later.

“We’re going to play “Fresh Essential” in a moment, but before we do… Animus are here in Cincinnati to play a concert at Bogie's tonight! You guys looking forward to it?”

“Definitely. Bogie's is a great venue and Cincinnati is a fantastic city,” Sam beams, flashing Annie a smile that leaves Dean feeling warmer than he cares to be right now.

“And you could win tickets to see Animus live at Bogie's this evening for yourself and a friend. All you have to do is call or text in with the correct answer to the following question…” Annie spiels off the question and then all the competition contact details. Fresh Essential is put on and it’s time for Animus to leave.

“Say,” Dean asks before they leave through the door out of the broadcast booth, “do you happen to know a Bobby Singer?”

Eyes seeming to light up, Annie gives Dean a wink. “Oh yes, Bobby and I go way back. Well, see you around boys. Kill ‘em at Bogie's.”

Leaving the studio, Benny meets with them and helps escort them out of the building. Balthazar is hanging out of the tour bus parked along the street, traffic passing by. Blissfully no one’s paying attention to them and recognizing them for the band storming the charts. Cincinnati is building up to rush hour and they’ll be leaving straight away for Bogie's. Allowing themselves the luxury of rehearsals before playing the concert.

Reaching the steps up into the bus, Dean looks around the street they’re on. He can’t help feeling like they’re being watched, but he can’t see anyone suspicious or out of place. Hoping it’s just nerves, Dean gets onto the bus, smiling at Garth as he passes by their driver.

“Alrighty,” Garth calls out over the bus’s PA system, “next stop Bogie's. Please get comfortable. There is traffic ahead. And get comfortable does not mean spilling soured milk on _my_ bus.”

Dean walks up to where Sam and Cas are sat. There is no escaping the murderous look that Sam’s throwing his way.

***

Bogie's is bigger than The Four Horsemen, but much smaller than Madison Square Garden. Castiel finds himself staring up into the rafters above, looking at the light rigs that hang heavily above them. Meg works on getting their kit set on stage, staff from the venue helping to set up. Looking back down, closer to Earth, Cas calculates that a thousand people could fit in here easily. So their gig was going to be this strange hybrid between their two previous ones.

 _A good thing I do not get stage fright_ , Cas concludes and starts walking over to one bar area where Dean, Sam, Balthazar and Benny have gathered. Garth, surprisingly, has joined them for once and is happily sipping a fresh cup of coffee. Their conversations wash over Cas as he takes up a stool beside the bar.

A cup of coffee appears in front of Cas and he looks up at the barman, squinting his eyes in confusion until he recalls asking for it, several moments before he decided to have a look around. The events of the tour so far rumble around in his head. He tries to look at things logically, tries to see if there is any real threat to Dean and Sam. But with the bear and John turning up like he had? Cas knows something is afoot. He just wishes he could see the greater whole more clearly, rise above it, and identify who or what was coming after his loves.

Taking a sip of coffee, Cas catches a snippet of conversation from the others.

“My neck’s fine, Balthazar,” says Sam, “Cas’s hands are miracle workers. Seriously, I don’t need to see a masseuse or whatever before the show.”

“Hmmm, if you’re sure…”

Castiel’s mind wanders back to the beautiful sight of Sam’s naked body before him, trusting him and responding to his every single touch. His skin feels warm and he has to shift on his stool, but he’s not quite able to adjust himself as much as he wants in his jeans.

“Hey, sweetheart, you doing okay?” Dean suddenly asks from beside Castiel’s elbow.

The drummer manages to not jump at Dean’s sudden closeness. “I feel an itch, Dean,” Cas replies matter of factly. And then an idea of how to spend their time before rehearsal hits him. “They’ll be a while yet, testing and checking all those systems. Get Sam.”

There’s no ignoring the way Dean’s breath hitches in response, but the older brother obeys. Soon Dean and Sam are stood beside Cas as his heart thuds in his chest. Cas turns and eyes Sam.

“Follow me.” Cas slides off of his stool. Balthazar, Benny and Garth don’t seem to be aware of what’s going on, because no one notes their sudden departure. Cas sees a set of double fire doors across the other side of the concert hall and he aims for those, finding them unlocked.

Coming out into some kind of service corridor, Cas leads the way, working on instinct to find a space for them. They pass a man in gray overalls, fixing a door, and continue on into the belly of Bogie's. Finding some stairs, they head up. Up and up, until they reach a landing and what looks like a doorway to the roof. Sky and air await them on the other side and the idea feels freeing to Castiel, so he pushes the door open. He reveals a green oasis in the middle of Cincinnati.

“Did you know this would be up here?” Sam asks, looking around in awe.

“I didn’t have a clue,” Cas honestly admits. “I thought it would be just a roof.”

Dean points to a set of floor pillows under a wooden gazebo and Castiel starts marching over. _This is… perfect._ There’s curtains tied back on the sides of the gazebo and the pillows look very inviting.

A part of Cas doesn’t care if there is anyone else up there right now, they’re sheltered from view mostly as it is as they come to a stop inside the gazebo. It just seems natural to grab Dean by the wrist and slam him against his front, hold him close, and steal a kiss. The possibilities of what could happen fan out before Cas. Hands suddenly at Dean’s belt and flies, Cas knows what he wants.

“Woah, Cas…” Dean begins, but Cas flashes him a look that suggests he should stop talking right now.

Waving a hand over at Sam, Cas waits a moment and then Sam ambles over, clearly pleased he’s getting to join in whatever is starting to happen here. Sam’s large hands join Castiel’s and they work to undress Dean and then each other.

A warm breeze roves over Castiel’s skin as he takes in the sight of the naked brothers. He’s hard and wanting to do so much in such a short period of time. He just wants to feel connected with them, to feel that the weirdness that’s been trying to worm into their lives isn’t stopping them from being who they are.

“Dean, what’s your safeword?” Cas asks, deciding that they need to start with something.

“Red.”

“What are you?”

“Green.”

Cas nods to Sam. “Hold Dean against you, embrace him. Kiss him. Love him.”

Sam steps in to follow Castiel’s orders without question and does just that. Castiel smiles as Sam lovingly embraces Dean and begins to messily kiss his brother. Getting into position behind Dean, Cas trails a hand down Dean’s back, making the man shiver. His hand reaches Dean’s ass and Cas gives each cheek a squeeze in turn.

Shifting so he’s stood more side on to Dean, Cas raises his right hand, drawing in a breath as he does. And then he exhales, bringing his palm down against Dean’s right butt cheek.

Dean had been waiting for something like this to happen the second Cas told them to follow him. Now feeling the fresh sting of Castiel’s palm against his ass, and the warmth of Sam in front of him—Dean feels an intense wave of arousal, and also a sense of belongingness that only appears when Cas wants to leave him marked and yearning.

Palm swinging down against his other cheek and making him whimper, Dean decides to kiss his way into Sam’s mouth. Tongues dancing intently against each other, hard-ons caressing with each impact, Dean starts crying into Sam’s mouth with each strike. Letting his breath be stolen. Allowing Cas to take him to a place where there’s only the three of them and the prepice of heaven and hell either side, pleasure and pain, balanced to perfection. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

Castiel’s hot breath catches the back of Dean’s neck and then Cas licks him. Slowly, Castiel’s hand caresses Dean’s hot, stinging cheeks, gently working in soothing circles. “So good for us, Dean. So perfect. You look so good like this. Caged by your brother as I paint your ass such beautiful colors.”

Dean moans into Sam’s mouth and ruts against him, now needing more.

“Mmmm, Sam?” Cas asks more loudly.

Dean whimpers as Sam pulls off his mouth and looks over to Cas. “Yes?” Sam asks.

“Got any lube?”

***

It took Balthazar about five minutes to realize that the band known as Animus had departed from his side and wandered off to fuck knows where. Keeping his composure, _because why the hell are you guys doing something like this when there is a credible, ongoing threat? Even if it’s just some crazy stalker? Why are you doing this to me?_ Balthazar assesses the situation.

Balthazar asks Benny and Meg to help him search for Dean, Sam and Castiel when none of the band answer their cells. He orders Garth back to the bus to check if they’re there and then Balthazar sweeps through the first floor until he meets Benny, Garth and Meg at the bottom of a stairwell.

“Nothing?” Balthazar asks, exasperation clear.

“Nothing, darling. There’s just,” Meg replies and points up the stairs.

“They haven’t gone back to the bus and no one’s seen them leave the building,” Garth adds, voice calmer than how Balthazar is feeling.

Benny nods in agreement. “Just a few that saw them head through those doors in the concert hall and that’s it.”

“Right, well then let’s go.” Balthazar begins to the climb the stairs.

“Why would they just wander off like this?” Garth asks.

Balthazar and Benny manage to reply, “No idea,” at the same time.

But Meg doesn’t respond to the question. She remains conspicuously quiet and Balthazar throws her a querying look over his shoulder as they climb the stairs. That just gets him a noncommittal shrug from Meg.

The climb up the stairwell seems to take forever, but finally they reach a door that opens on to the roof. Balthazar can’t believe what he’s seeing as he takes in the dense rooftop garden that surrounds him, the distant sounds of the city dampened by the greenery.

A muffled, “Fuck!” makes Balthazar turn and he eyes a wooden gazebo. There’s curtains drawn around it.

Meg lands a hand on his shoulder and tries to pull Balthazar back. “Look, maybe we should head back down,” she says.

A large hand lands on Balthazar’s other shoulder and Benny starts pulling him back too. “Yeah, maybe we should just head down. I’m sure they’ll come back soon enough.”

Confused by their sudden change in demeanor, Balthazar shrugs Meg and Benny’s hands off and starts powering towards the gazebo. Reaching it, he flings back one of the curtains and stands beside it in shocked silence.

“FUCK!” Shouts Dean as he comes. And Balthazar is never going to be unable to unsee the sight of Animus fucking each other, Sam thrusting in and out of his brother Dean as Cas fucks Sam. Never be able to unsee the synchronicity with which the three of them move as they pleasure each other. Sweat gleaming from their skin and their hair all messed up. Faces contorted as they chase orgasm. It seems none of them have in fact noticed that Balthazar is there, because they don’t stop.

Balthazar twists and turns away just as Sam and Castiel shout out at the same time as they come. The manager now has a pretty good idea of what that must look like and his brain helpfully supplies the mental image. He stalks past Benny and Meg who both look sheepish and apologetic at the same time. Garth looks very confused and Balthazar takes the driver by the hand, leading him back through the doors they had come through.

Had Balthazar ever suspected that they were fucking? Well, he’d always had the suspicion that Castiel was more than just _involved_ with Sam and Dean. Now he knew how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to rush this chapter a bit as sudden expectations for me to go and socialize were placed on me for this weekend.


	8. Confession

Glass tumbler heavy in his hand, Balthazar takes a swig of the thirty year old scotch he ordered at the bar. Dress shirt open, gray jacket slung over a stool beside him, Baltazar is finding it difficult to reach any level of equilibrium right now.

Beside him sits Garth, a mug of hot coco before him, marshmallows slowly descending into the spray cream that the bartender had added to the mug. It didn’t even surprise Balthazar to learn that Bogie’s bar had hot coco. The more surprising revelation was that it had such fine scotch for him to pour down his throat. That there was something to burn his insides with and leave him numb.

 _Because fuck dealing with this mess. What the hell am I meant to tell Gabriel? How are we gonna keep this out of the press? FUCK! Do they already know? Who knows? Can we pay them off to keep their mouths shut? Does Crowley still do enforcement? Shit. Shit. Shitty shit_ — all this tumbles through Balthazar’s mind as he sits with his drink. Not once had he thought, _How do I get out of this mess?_ after being initially grossed out. Instead he’d gone into hyper manager mode, trying desperately to think of any which way the whole situation could—as his more coarse friends back in London would say—go entirely _tits-up_.

“Should you be drinking?” Garth asks in a small voice.

Balthazar regards the slither of scotch still remaining in his glass and then glugs it down, smacking his lips together loudly as the amber liquid singes his tongue. “I think, very much that yes, I should be drinking. Dear Garth, when one is presented with such a sight as we were just some fifteen minutes ago… you drink and you drink, and you drink, and maybe inhale some of the fumes too. Hell, you might even go to see if there’s any hash to be found. Because you want to block the _utter living shit_ out of what you’ve just seen.”

Placing the tumbler back down on the bar, Balthazar slides it towards the barman and waves his hand over the glass, indicating his need for a refill. Slapping some bills down on the well worn bar top, Balthazar watches patiently as the barman pours more scotch. Without so much as a “thank you”, Balthazar picks up the glass and takes a longer sip of the good stuff.

“Well, maybe you should slow down?” Garth suggests unhelpfully.

Turning on his stool, Balthazar regards Garth. Their driver seems calm, collected, no awkward sweat patches on his plaid and t-shirt, hands not curling nervously against his jeans. He’s almost zen like in comparison to the nervous energy that is thrumming through Balthazar. “Did you know?” The manager asks the driver.

Shaking his head and picking up his mug of hot coco, Garth gives Balthazar an innocent look. “I didn’t,” he replies in his surprisingly youthful voice.

Balthazar believes him, but that doesn’t make any of this any more acceptable than it was a second ago.

Slowly breathing out, Balthazar tries to pull together a plan of action. The concert needed to go on regardless. There was no doubt about that—the financial cost alone of bowing out after turning up would be too much. But they needed to have a, _team meeting, family meeting?_ Before anyone went up on stage.

 _And how long have Meg and Benny known? What about Singer or Winchester senior?_ Balthazar ponders, anger rising again. _I can’t believe… I can’t believe those three are.... I mean, Castiel dating one of them makes sense? But—_ Balthazar gets a mental flashback of seeing Sam buried in Dean, sees again the desire and pleasure that was writ across their faces. Hears the neediness that every intake, exhale and “fuck” had demonstrated.

Bringing the scotch to his lips, Balthazar takes a long sip and wishes for his mind to be cleansed. _Maybe our health plan covers hypnotherapy?_ He ponders, hopefully, but then remembers bitterly that he needs to know about this kind of thing so that his awkwardly churning, gravy train doesn’t end.

“Be their manager, he said. It’ll be a breeze, he said. They’re such good boys, he said. Fucker didn’t know just how _good_.” The scotch is making him feel looser, but Balthazar can still hold his tongue when it counts. Gabriel was going to have to meet them in Chicago when they took Rudy on and Balthazar did not want to say what had happened over the phone. He was either going to have to be vague or lie to get the band’s joint PR and agent to actually be in the same room as his, (right now) highest paying, clients.

 _How to make your manager’s job a million times more difficult? Have an intecestous, poly relationship between your brother and your other drummer_ , Balthazar thought wryly. _But who started it? You know what—never mind. I don’t need to know this. I just need to know who knows._

Finishing the scotch, Balthazar motions for another and looks to Garth again. The driver has a cream and chocolate mustache above his top lip and looks about twelve years old. Normally, Balthazar would scoff and laugh at such a sight, but right now he is praying that whatever is between Dean and Sam had at least started when Sam was old enough to consent. If it hadn’t and the press found out about them? They wouldn’t have a chance of anyone defending them should they be slapped on the front page of every single newspaper, every single news site, every single news channel the country had to offer.

 _And I really do pray Sam was eighteen when they started_. A fresh glass of scotch is put down beside Balthazar and he takes a sip. Sighing, he uses his free hand to pull out his cell. _Time for a family meeting._

***

Somehow Dean has managed to dress himself, but his shirts cling to his back from sweat. He’s sat in the main dressing room at Bogie’s, Sam on his right and Cas on his left. Meg and Benny are surprisingly close to them, their presence almost bordering on _supportive_. Which Dean cannot understand, _because surely they think we’re a bunch of real sick fucks?_ Wanting the floor to swallow him whole, Dean can’t handle the anxious embarrassment that’s pulling at him. He doesn’t feel like he’s done anything wrong beyond break a few public sex laws, and he’s never apologizing for what he has… _But Balthy knowing? Them all knowing? It feels weird._

Balthazar stands up from his seat beside Garth and starts pacing the room again. “So you two,” Balthazar points between Dean and Sam, “have been together since Sam’s eighteenth. And the three of you,” Balthazar draws a circle in the air, “have been a thing since the launch party of your first album last year. And you two,” Balthazar points accusingly at Meg and Benny, “have known for how _damn, long?_ ”

Watching Meg out of the corner of his eye, Dean is almost curious himself as to how long they’ve known about them. Their roadie, sometimes friend, puts a nervous hand through her long, wavy hair and then slaps her thigh. “Well ain’t that the kicker, Balthy,” Dean watches Balthazar wince at the nickname, “I knew from the first day I joined these three on the road that there was something more going on. I’m not blind like you apparently are. Clarence’s addition to the club was late, but expected. I kept it to myself… Until, y’know… Benny figured it out for himself too.”

There is no ignoring the tick to Balthazar’s jaw as he takes in this information. The manager glares at Benny specifically and Dean feels sorry for him. Cold acceptance replacing the anxiety that had been pumping through Dean, he’s already realizing that there’s no way that Benny could not know.

“And you?” Balthazar asks, eyes not leaving Benny’s face.

“Well, uh,” Benny begins in his soft, Louisiana drawl, “it was kind of hard not to realize what was going on after the launch of the first album. I do my job. And I do it well. So I knew who was coming and going… and well… coming.” Face going red, Benny looks away from Balthazar and stares at the changing room’s grotty floor. Dean can feel his own ears turning pink as his sense of embarrassment returns.

“Fine,” Balthazar says in a voice that lets them all know this is all anything but “fine”, “who else knows apart from everyone in this room?”

A murmur passes between Meg and Benny, but all eyes fall on Dean. Turning more red than pink, Dean rubs nervously at his legs. “It’s just Bobby and… and dad. Who know. Nobody else knows.”

With a few quick strides and Balthazar is right up in Dean’s face, bending forward and glowering at him. Castiel growls lowly beside him and Dean wonders if Balthazar can hear Cas. “You are sure no one else knows about you?”

Meeting Balthazar’s eyes, Dean glares back at their manager. “No one else knows. We’ve been careful… for the most part.”

“Today can’t happen again,” Balthazar states and stands up straight. “It really can’t. One more person is going to know. Maybe even two. If Benny figured this mess out then it’s only going to be a matter of time before Rudy does when he joins us. And I am going to have call Gabriel in so we can discuss this matter… in person.”

_Gabriel… c’mon, he doesn’t— “Gabe doesn’t need to know about this. Neither does Rudy. We can keep this under wraps, we’ll… we’ll… we’ll—”_

“Stop being together?” Balthazar asks icily.

“We are not breaking up,” Castiel rumbles and suddenly the drummer stands and squares off against Balthazar. “I was an idiot today. We shouldn’t have done what we did.”

“That is an understatement! Anyone could have seen you! You’re lucky this isn’t already online!” Balthazar seethes.

The scared jerk that works its way out of Dean as Sam rockets to his feet almost sends Dean crashing off of his stool. His brother advances forward, anger clear and threatening.

“No one saw us! Except you, who should known better than to pull back the curtain! I mean, what or who were you expecting to find? You could have just left us alone, formed your own stupid conclusions and fucked off,” Sam growls out, shoulders raising and lowering as his rage builds.

“Don’t you dare pin this on me!” Balthazar hurls back.

Knuckles burning, Dean looks down at his hands and is surprised to find that he’s balled them into fists. The hand that hit John hurts the worse. He never wanted them to find out like this. Never wanted to be having this conversation. All Dean has ever wanted is to show Sam and Cas how much he loves them and adores them. To be with only them. The whole world doesn’t need to know and if they’re careful—the whole world will never know. Twice in the past two days he’s been accused of fucking Sam when he was underage and Dean had let Balthazar’s accusations slide until he had a moment to correct him.

But Dean is not going to be told how to live his life. Who to love. And how. He’d rather screw music and live in obscurity somewhere with Sam and Cas than put up with Balthazar's self-victimizing, indignant anger.

Getting to his feet. Dean pushes past Cas and Sam to stand in Balthazar’s personal space. “You fine with us being together just so long as don’t screw with your logistics?” Dean asks in a single, dangerous tone.

The look that their manager gives them is one of defeat. Balthazar finally seems to deflate, falling in on himself a little. “Yes.”

Dean looks around at Garth, Benny and Meg. “Are you guys fine with us being together?”

“Well, now that you’ve clarified how things are between ya, sure, cher,” Benny replies. Meg and Garth nod in agreement.

“I won’t ask why you’re okay with us… but thank you.”

Bringing his gaze back to Balthazar and squaring his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height, Dean says lowly, “Then you can quit whining about us and help us put on the damn show we came here to do! I don’t care if you call Gabe about this, but if you ever complain to us again that we should stop being together…” Dean pauses and draws in a deep breath. “You’re gonna get the same treatment my father did. Understand?”

A slow nod works its way out of Balthazar.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding… Now let’s do that rehearsal thing we’re meant to have been doing for the past hour!” Dean twists round, grabbing Sam and Cas’s hands. He drags them out of the room behind him as he storms out, kicking the changing room door open in his wake.

He’s shaking by the time they reach the stage.

***

Cheers and shouts follow them as they walk out onto Bogie’s stage. The hall is filled with a keen energy that quickly teases Sam to let his limbs loosen and feel the wave of appreciation hit them before they’ve even had a chance to play their first song. It isn’t going to be an easy concert, not with the events of the day still churning around in his head, but Sam promises himself that he will do his best. That he’ll give these people what they came here for.

”Fresh Essential” is the first track that they head into once they’re ready. Ear piece helping to keep him in check, Sam throws himself into playing his bass and backing Dean up on the chorus. There’s so much that Sam is trying to keep in check that he has to keep stopping himself from letting his thoughts wander away from the job that they’re meant to be doing on stage. The day is weighing heavily on him; the tour is and everything that has happened so far.

The professional musician in him snarls inwardly as he makes a few minor mistakes as they work their way through the setlist. It’s nothing the audience will notice, but Sam does. _And it’s only going to be getting bigger from here_ , Sam muses as they get ready between songs, waiting for Dean to switch back to his keyboard. Fingers tensing, ready, for the next song, Sam throws himself back into the music and focuses on it rather than letting his thoughts further cloud his performance. The movements of his fingers and the lyrics on his lips are all he feels.

Closing with an encore of “Root of Harmony”, this time with Sam on his acoustic and leading the song, Sam feels like they’ve done a good job tonight. It’s going fine until he really looks into the sea of people there. One pair of eyes hold his, but he doesn’t recognize them as he sings and plays. Pale blue eyes set in a man’s face that Sam feels like he should know. That he’s seen recently. Hair short and light brown. He blinks and the man’s gone from the audience, disappeared into nothing. It’s disorientating and Sam struggles to keep himself in check, but finally he makes it through the song and the concert is over.

A flurry of autographs follows for a select few fans and then Sam’s being ushered onto the bus. Everytime he thinks, his thoughts come back to those blue eyes. How strikingly familiar they feel. He hardly registers being pulled down onto a couch, Castiel’s defiant choice of not pulling the curtains close. Fixated on those eyes, Sam mentally checks them off against almost everyone he has ever known, trying to place them and the face they belong to.

“Yo, Sammy, you with us?” Dean asks, snapping fingers in front of Sam’s face.

Jolting his vision from the corner of a worktop he’d been staring at, Sam looks over at Dean. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Meg was just trying to ask us if we wanted to stop for some nachos before we hit the interstate.”

“Uh, yeah nachos could work… but can we grab some salad too?”

Dean rolls his eyes and nods. “Sure, Sasquatch, we can get you some salad.” Dean gets up, playfully ruffles Sam’s hair and heads down the bus to sort out their orders.

Castiel’s hand slips onto Sam’s knee and squeezes it. “Are you okay, Sam, you seem a little… off.”

Snorting, Sam shakes his head and switches to looking out the window. “Long day, y’know. Lot of crap. Just kinda can’t switch… my brain off.”

“Other than… what happened on the roof and after, is there anything else bothering you?”

Shrugging, Sam looks to Cas and finds the drummer to be tantalizingly close. “Well… there was… I dunno… I thought I saw someone I knew, in the audience. Felt real familiar. Probably nothing.”

Castiel tenses a little beside him, but he doesn’t push any further questions. “It’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again.”

Cas kisses Sam sweetly on his lips.

***

Fed up with getting sore necks from sleeping on the couches, Cas had finally enticed Sam and Dean to use their bunks. Cas is curled up on his bunk, facing the nearest side of the bus. Full from fast food and slowly drifting asleep, Cas tries not to focus on any of the anger he felt earlier. He’d been harsh on Balthazar, they all had, but the man was dealing with some pretty big news.

Turning over, Cas feels breath ghost across his face and he opens his eyes. Dean is stood beside the bunks, in his sweats, squatting a little so he can look at Cas.

“Can’t sleep?” Cas asks knowingly.

Dean nods his head in response and Cas throws his covers back so that Dean can climb in with him. In the gloom they face each other and Cas covers them up with his sheets and blankets. Above them, Sam snorts in his sleep and turns over, the bunk above them creaking a little.

“What’s up?” Cas asks in a whisper, though he knows.

Nuzzling up to him, Dean plants a kiss on Castiel’s jaw. “I just can’t help feeling that some asshole’s gonna come along now and try to split us up…”

Pulling Dean in against his body, Cas holds the older brother in his arms and kisses the top of his head. “No one’s going to split us up.”

To be honest, Cas is impressed that Dean is being this frank with him. But ever since Sam had ended up in hospital, they’d all worked on being more open with each other. Talking when they needed to. It just still surprises Castiel when Dean seeks him out like this.

“I don’t think,” Dean says quietly, “I could cope with losing you and Sam. It’d be like having a hole ripped in my heart.”

“Not going anywhere,” Cas reaffirms and strokes a hand along Dean’s back. That gets him Dean’s lips on his. The kiss is light and loving, filled with a warmth that Castiel sometimes doesn’t think he deserves. A warmth that sends blood rushing to his cock.

“Promise?” Dean nips at Castiel’s jaw.

Bringing his hands down to Dean’s ass, Cas squeezes Dean’s cheeks through his sweats and pulls him closer. “Promise,” Cas replies and then covers Dean’s mouth with his own. Lazily stealing Dean’s breath, bringing their hips together and grinding, Cas is determined to make Dean see this. Make him feel this.

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s sweats, Cas pulls the soft fabric down. Getting the idea, Dean’s hands find Cas’s waistband and pulls his sweats down. They gently kick the pants off under the covers, and then Cas is reaching between them. Gripping their lengths, Cas feels the wetness of pre-come on his hand and he rubs a thumb along Dean’s slit.

Quietly moaning into Castiel’s mouth, Dean tries to rut into his hand and Cas lets him. This is about release, about bringing Dean the calm he needs to get some rest and put this day behind him. _The next time we have a room, I’m fucking you, Dean Winchester,_ Castiel promises silently with every kiss, every stroke of his hand. _You’re going to come on my cock._

Almost as if hearing him, Dean begins to speed up his little needy thrusts into Castiel’s hand. Chuckling in the back of his throat, Castiel allows Dean to work himself with Castiel’s strokes. The teasing press of their hardness together, the slide of flesh against flesh causing Castiel to lick desperately into Dean’s mouth. On each upwards thrust and slide, Cas sideswipes his thumb over their slits, feeling the wetness growing between them as they ooze pre-come.

 _Maybe I’ll watch Sam fuck you first, tell you not to come… and then once Sam has you begging, I’ll give you my cock…_ Cas considers, a pool of heat spreading through him. _I’ll make you sit on my cock and you won’t be allowed to touch yourself. And the only way you’ll be allowed relief is if you fuck yourself on me._ Dean’s body tenses and Cas knows what Dean’s going to ask.

Gently pulling his mouth from Castiel’s, Dean nips at his jaw again and begs, voice wrecked, “Please, may I come?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers and then thrusts his tongue into Dean’s mouth, tongue fucking in and out in time with his hand. A whimper claws its way out of Dean and then his lover is crying out, Cas swallowing Dean’s cries as his orgasm hits. Feeling Dean tremble and shake within his grip, Cas can no longer hold back, he thrusts desperately into his hand, sliding against Dean and his come.

 _Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ Cas only just holds off from shouting into Dean’s mouth as he comes. Hand slipping away from their softening cocks, Cas doesn’t think about the mess they’ve just made.

Instead he gently kisses Dean, lavishing him with affection. Lips meeting cheeks and forehead, nose and mouth. Cas listens to Dean’s breathing start to slow and become steady. Once Dean is asleep, Cas is able to finally relax. He buries his face in Dean’s hair and breathes in his familiar scent. Drifting asleep, Cas feels hopeful, despite the mess the day had brung.

***

 _Kid’s got keen eyes, keener instincts,_ the man muses to himself as he takes a long draw on his cigarette. His old sedan rumbles along the interstate, discrete and unremarkable. The tour bus would have rumbled along the same stretch of road about an hour before.

”But minus Johnny boy,” the man muses out loud, blowing smoke out of his mouth. “Pushed them too hard. Don’t worry though, I’ll look after them Johnny boy. I’ll keep them… safe.”

Chicago is a few hours away. Keeping his speed steady and within the limit, the man takes another drag on his cigarette. His mission in the city would be risky, but again John had pushed his schedule forward. He had wanted to wait to make contact, but now he could no longer hold back. Not if the rumor of security being tightened is true.

His cell phone rings and he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. Skillfully sliding his cell from his jacket pocket to his right ear, the man keeps the wheel secure and drives on as he answers. “Why, hello there, Butterfly. How are things for my arrival?”

They were good, Butterfly tells the man. For a moment he finds himself wishing she was there now, so he could run his hands through her hair. But he would have to wait.

“Let me know if anything changes. See you soon.” The man hangs up and stows his cell. One handedly, he slips another cigarette out of his pack and presses the filter between his lips. Shuffling a lighter into his hand, the man lights his cigarette and draws in a breath.

“I wonder if I can go to Martina’s and get a slice before the _show_ kicks off?”


	9. Please Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty much pure fluff in this chapter. And some smut. Just an FYI.

Sam’s sat in the school library, checking over a couple of things in a biology textbook. Finals are in a few weeks. Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s going to pass everything, well, more than pass everything. But Sam doesn’t feel right unless he puts in just a bit of extra effort after classes everyday and yes, he is technically waiting for a lift from Dean back up to Bobby’s. It feels like any other Wednesday, even though it shouldn’t.

Sat by himself, surrounded by books—hand flying across the pages of his notebook as he writes down a couple of extra bits and pieces about the structure of DNA—Sam’s allowed himself to forget the day’s significance. No one made a fuss before he left the house this morning and the day hasn’t gotten any more special.

He’d been asked by Tina Scholes—all short black hair and short, red skater skirt—whether he was going to their senior class party at the end of the month. Her hint clear and he’d said sure he’d be there, because he was part of the band that would be playing for the evening. Dean was already psyched by the prospect of playing at his old high school. And Cas had been about as excited as he ever could get about anything.

Cell buzzing in his pocket, Sam pulls it out and looks at the message Dean’s sent him.

**Grab your crap and meet be in the parking lot D x**

_An “x”?_ Sam thinks to himself and blushes. Packing up his things, pulling his hoodie over his t-shirt and slinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he leaves the library. In the distance he can hear a choir singing, but he doesn’t register what the song is as his feet speed up.

Heading out into the parking lot, it’s hard not to miss Dean in the late afternoon sun, and not just because of his bright blue plaid. “Eye of the Tiger” is playing full blast from the Impala’s stereo and—

“What the hell, Dean?!” Sam shouts as his brother climbs out through the open driver’s window and mouths the words of the song. Dean’s gotten into the flow of things and is really going for it, waggling his shoulders, swinging his right pointer finger through the air. There’s a small audience now and Sam’s cheeks are burning.

And then Dean climbs onto the roof of the Impala and starts playing air guitar with his fucking leg. _There’s only a few more weeks of school left. Few more weeks. I just gotta get through finals._

“Eye of the Tiger” ends and Dean hops down from the roof of his car, million dollar smile directed Sam’s way and he feels his stomach flip. There’s been a building tension between the two of them for years. Sometimes Sam will talk about Cas and he can tell that Dean’s a little jealous of the way he talks about their friend, the reverence there. But then other times… Dean brushes his hand against Sam’s as they hand each other dishes, laundry or guitar cases.

Stolen glances. But then stares so intense Sam feels like he’s pinned. Sometimes a gaze that lingers too long on Sam's lips. On this throat. And Sam sometimes has dreams that are anything but brotherly. Everything has been building as puberty sped along. Right now? Sam can’t remember the last time he came while thinking about a girl. He’d been thinking of Dean for quite some time. Cas occasionally too, but mainly Dean.

Approaching the car, Sam shakes his head, curling hair bouncing around his ears. Dean winks at him and opens the driver’s door. “Hope you’re hungry,” Dean announces.

Getting in on the passenger side, Sam spots a cool box and a guitar case on the back seat. _It looks like Dean remembered_ , Sam realizes face going redder. Taking a long breath, Sam’s hit by how much John’s old car smells like Dean now. A mix of sandalwood, leather and cloves, along with Dean’s own musk. Sweet and spicy, but undeniably masculine. Stealing a glance at Dean, Sam notes that the smile is still there. Part of Sam tries to remember when he last saw Dean this happy. This excited. It’s definitely been a long time.

“So, how was school?” Dean pulls the car out of the parking lot and they head in the opposite direction of what they would for Bobby’s.

Pushing a hand through his hair with one hand and nervously fondling his rucksack with the other, Sam tries to recall his day. “Just like any other day. Everyone’s getting a bit jumpy, ‘cause finals… but nothing amazing happened.” Sam huffs out a breath. “Oh, I think Tina Scholes wants to go with me to the senior class party. She was asking me about it, a lot, today at lunch.”

Sam's conscious mind misses the way that Dean’s hands tense a little harder against the Impala’s steering wheel as he asks, “Are you going with her?”

“No. I pointed out that I’d be in the band playing all the music.”

“You could… still have a date for the party, y’know?” Dean points out, voice a little soft.

“There’s uh… no one from school I’d want to go with,” Sam confesses, face going red again. He’s looking straight ahead at the road, but he can tell that Dean’s looking at him. Studying him with this intense gaze that he’s been using more and more. Dean shifts in his seat when he goes back to looking at the road.

“So no one wished you happy birthday?” Dean asks, changing the topic to something that’s no less nerves inducing.

 _Why does it matter?_ “No one. It’s not like I’m a popular kid with a gaggle of friends around me. I mean, sure I hang out with people like Charlie almost all the time, but it’s not like I ever do anything for today. Really.” And it was true, past birthdays had hardly been remarked upon, though Bobby always managed to get him a birthday cake with candles and a couple of presents. Still, he’d never had parties, never asked for them. And certainly never asked for them when they’d still been living with John (if you could call that living). Having gone to a few growing up, Sam knew what they they could be like, but he’d always felt a bit out of place at them.

“Oh c’mon, stop. Okay, Happy Birthday, Sammy. Now quit your self-pity, because we’re almost there…”

“Almost where?” Sam asks, starting to wonder what the hell is going on.

“You’ll see,” Dean replies, voice all mysterious as he presses play on a tape in the car stereo. It’s AC/DC, "Back In Black", and it provides the only noise as they drive a few more miles to the other side of town.

Finally pulling up, Sam sees that they’re at his favorite park. Dean parks the car and Sam can see the small crowd that’s gathered by the picnic benches there. “Happy Birthday” banners are strung up and Sam can see Bobby, Charlie, Castiel, Kevin, Jody, Donna, Ellen and Jo waving at the car as Bobby and Ellen work a barbeque together. It’s been quite a warm May, so even as they approach the evening it’s comfortable.

They’re hardly out of the car when Bobby shouts over, “Boy, you better have brought those damn burger patties of yours!”

“Alright, alright! Hold your horses!” Dean shouts back, opening up the back and pulling the cooler out. “Yo, Sammy, grab my guitar would you?”

“Sure.”

There’s a sense of happiness building inside of Sam. The scope of how happy he feels beyond anything he has felt before. Topping when Bobby said they didn’t have to live with their dad any more. Better than when Sam got his first A. He feels even happier than when he managed to play for the first time “Bad Moon Rising” on his guitar, and sing, without even needing the music sheet in front of him. Sam walks into the crowd of family and friends, his heart feeling bigger than it ever has.

Charlie, Kevin and Jo—friends and classmates of Sam—crowd around him while the food is cooked. A dozen hugs later, someone pulls out a frisbee and they start running around and playing it like a bunch of overgrown kids. _Man, I wish I had a dog. This would be so cool with a dog_ , Sam contemplates as he awkwardly catches a throw from Kevin. None of them are particularly athletic and they’re certainly not on any of the sports teams, but Sam can feel some amazed glances when he chases down a particularly long and fast throw from Charlie.

Burgers, steaks, corn, jacket potatoes and more are served. Ellen and Donna call them all in. While Sam had been playing frisbee with his friends, Dean and Cas had been deep in discussion. Sam figured he knew what about: Dean had just saved up enough cash to buy a new amp, but he still wasn’t sure which to go for. The topic had been occupying many breakfast conversations for weeks and each band practice it would come up.

Helping himself to a bit of everything, Sam soon has a plate piled high with food and he digs in. Just as Sam starts on his second burger, there’s a rumbling sound as a pick-up truck parks up in the nearby parking lot. Sam looks over and sees Rufus heading over towards their gathering. _Is this what a Birthday party can be like when it’s your own? Just lots of people you love or care about hanging out and having a good time? Enjoying your day with you? This is… this is nice_ , Sam decides as he shakes Rufus’s hand and they all go back to eating. It’s not much longer and Sam’s beginning to feel quite full.

For a moment, Sam wonders why it was decided that they should do this for his eighteenth birthday and he’s about to ask Dean, who’s sat beside him, when Bobby stands up and claps his hands. Silence falls over the crowd gathered there.

“Thank you for all coming today,” Bobby starts, “I know… we ain’t been much for ceremony before, but someone convinced me that this year should be different.” Bobby glances at Dean and Sam finally gets that this was all Dean’s idea. “So,” Bobby raises his plastic beer glass and everyone else raises their drinks, beers or sodas, “here’s to Sam. Happy Birthday… son.” And if Bobby’s voice goes a little deeper and emotional at “son” no one says anything as they drink to Sam.

Toast over and plates almost clear, Dean and Donna disappear for a moment just as Sam’s getting restless.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you,” Dean starts up and everyone follows. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday,” the largest cake Sam has ever seen is placed down on the table in front of his empty plate, “dear Sammmmm. Happy Birthday to you.”

Blowing out the candles, Sam makes a wish. And then everyone’s cheering and shouting around him, hands clapping, and Dean’s getting him to cut the first slice. There’s so much chocolate frosting, Sam doesn’t quite know how to approach eating it as everyone talks and jostles around him. No one’s paying him any attention now that there’s cake and perhaps it’s for the best, now that Sam’s starting to feel a little overwhelmed. The sun’s beginning to set. He picks up a picnic blanket that’s near everyone’s bags and takes himself and his cake over to one of his favorite reading trees.

Putting the blanket down and sitting on it, Sam holds the plate of cake in one hand and carefully scoops up a piece with a fork. He tastes it and closes his eyes a moment at the richness of the chocolate. A couple of twigs snap and he swings his head round to find Dean almost right beside him, carrying his guitar case.

“You ran off before I could give you your present,” Dean explains, setting the case down and pulling his guitar from it. There’s no hurt in his voice, but he does sound a little anxious.

“Sorry, I was just… it was… it was nice… but it’s a lot,” Sam says lamely, but the nod Dean gives him shows he understands. A battery operated camping lantern appears from nowhere and Dean sets it down beside Sam so they have a bit more light. Then Dean sits down on the blanket, across from Sam.

“So,” Dean says, breaking a silence Sam didn’t know had gathered. “I… uh… um, Happy Birthday.” Dean adjusts the acoustic guitar’s strap around his neck and clears his throat.

Fingers dancing over the fretboard, Sam listens as Dean plays an intro, already thinking to himself that Dean could do with Sam playing his bass to bring the melody to its full potential. Dean clears his throat again, Sam tracks the movement of his brother’s Adam’s apple and his face feels warm. In the distance, under the guitar’s melody, Sam can hear the others, but really all of his attention is on Dean.

“There’s a few things we need to do. Some stuff we gotta do. I get this and so do you. Take this plan and follow it. Even if it tears us down. It’s hard. But you understand. I know,” Dean sings, voice loping along beautifully with the chords.

“I’ve realized, I am yours. Can’t get away now. I’ve realized, I am yours. Can’t get away now.” Dean licks his lips as he breathes and continues, “But I never wanted to.”

In the light of the lantern, Dean’s eyes are dark and moody, but Sam can feel the warmth in the words his brother sings. Subconsciously, Sam reaches his right hand out towards his brother and lays it on his left knee. _This song is for me and it’s about… us. Fuck._

“Heading down this river. The flow so fast. I don’t wanna stop. Please don’t head for shore. I’ll journey with you until the end. Horizon infinite. You are all around me. You are everything.” Dean takes a shaky breath and licks his lips again, fingers moving over the fretboard as he the chorus nears.

“I’ve realized, I am yours. Can’t get away now. I’ve realized, I am yours. Can’t get away now. But I never have to,” Dean finishes singing, hands sliding up and down as he plays out the few last chords. Hands coming to a standstill, Dean finishes playing and looks at Sam. Sea green eyes a little wet, Sam knows what he wants to do, knows now what he wants to have. Understands who he has been craving all this time.

“That was… you wrote that for me?” Sam asks, breaking the quiet the end of the song had left.

Dean manages a nod and Sam can see there’s fear in Dean’s eyes. Fear that he may have given away too much and he’s about to be rejected. His brother looks away and carefully places the hand-me-down guitar back in its case and closes it. Moving to go, Dean begins to push off the ground, but he doesn’t get very far—Sam launches himself at Dean, bowling him over.

Slamming Dean onto his back, Dean grunts in surprise as Sam brings their mouths together and presses in, hands on Dean’s face. Kissing Dean like his life depended on it, that Dean is his. Demanding entrance, licking his way into Dean’s mouth and finally learning that almost every accidental touch, every stare has meant more than Sam had dared to hope. That they want each other. A tiny rational part of his brain is trying to point out that this is considered wrong, but he doesn’t care. Heart swollen with the words that had fallen from Dean’s lips; cock straining against his jeans; Dean thrusting up to meet his own needy grinding—Sam wonders how long they’ve been hiding from each other as they rut.

Breaking the kiss, Dean plants wet kisses along Sam’s jaw and someone’s leg jerks out and the lantern suddenly goes out. But Sam doesn’t care, he’s got all the time in the world to look at Dean and now... In the gathering dark, no one will see them as they continue to messily make out with each other. As they tell each other how they want the other so much. Drag their hips and lips in ways that speak of all the things that the future will bring. So many promises and demands.

Shocking Sam, Dean pushes him off and then he’s on top of him, hands by his flies and zipper. Dean opens Sam’s jeans and pulls his hard cock out. All fear of discovery is suddenly stripped from Sam as Dean sinks his mouth over Sam’s straining length. Hot wetness enveloping him, tongue teasing this and there, catching under his head, pressing against slit and leaving him panting. Putting a hand in Dean’s hair, Sam grips him lightly and encourages him.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck! So good. Such a wonderful, brother. Fuck!” Sam praises, unable to resist thrusting up into Dean’s mouth and getting a satisfied hum out of Dean that vibrates down all the way to his balls. And Sam just can’t handle it. The combination of finding out that his desire, his love, is returned. That Dean wants him as much as he wants Dean.

Mouth sliding off his aching cock, Sam looks down as Dean treats his dick like it’s a popsicle, tongue lapping at his tip. Pressing in under his head now and then. Looking thoroughly debauched in the growing gloom. Pressure building low inside him, Sam covers his mouth with his arm as he screams and comes, covering Dean’s mouth and face—

“We are just reaching The Langham,” calls Garth’s voice over the bus’s PA system. “So rise and shine sleepy heads. You got ten minutes. And in case you were wondering: yes we have reached Chicago.”

Brain slowly catching up with what he’s hearing, Sam blinks his eyes open and sees that he’s in his bunk on the Animus tour bus. Regaining use of his limbs, he realizes that his right hand is down his sweats and definitely coated in the sticky residue of just blown come. There’s movement below him and then Castiel’s eyes meet his own as the drummer stands beside the bunks.

“Those were… some interesting noises you were making, Sam,” Castiel says in a quiet voice. Cas’s eyes look up and down him, hungrily. “Pleasant dreams, I hope?”

Sam nods.

“You were singing at one point,” Cas says matter of factly as he reaches for some clothes from a nearby locker. “I assume you were reliving your eighteenth.”

Sam nods again.

“I’m sure, once we’re settled in, Dean would be happy for an encore,” Cas says suggestively. “I’ll back him up of course.”

And somehow, _fucking somehow_ , Sam’s hard in his hand again and in desperate need of calming the fuck down as Cas saunters off to get dressed somewhere else. Dean appears out from Cas's bed and spots Sam.

“Uh… you okay, Sammy?”

Speechless, because he really can’t trust his own voice right now, Sam nods.

“Okay, well, c’mon, time to get dressed.” Dean’s hands are suddenly on Sam’s covers and yanking them off, no chance given for Sam to protest. His brother stops and eyes Sam’s crotch. Right hand still in his sweats, erection more than visibly tenting his pants. Dean’s eyes go wide and Sam’s face burns.

“Yes,” Sam says, voice higher than usual, “I’ll get dressed… in a moment.”

Saying nothing in return, Dean covers Sam up and grabs some clothes. Dean gives Sam an apologetic look before heading off to get dressed somewhere else. Despite all the embarrassment, Sam’s erection takes a long time to go back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, where's all the drama? Uh, this week I decided to go for a flashback dream thing because, well, I needed to. There's been a lot of horrible events in the world this past week that have affected people I know and love and I wanted to just be lighthearted for once, but also give you some background on Sam and Dean.
> 
> I've got something extra special planned for chapter 10, including some _actual_ , commissioned fan art. So your regular mixture of drama, smut, angst and a side of fluff will be returning. See ya in the comments x


	10. Holding On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The album cover art in this chapter was commissioned from [somuchcolour.tumblr.com](http://somuchcolour.tumblr.com/).

“Send them up.” Gabriel puts his room phone down and walks over to the lounge area. Plopping down on a leather couch, Gabriel takes a moment to flip slowly through email messages on his Blackberry. The Langham is modern and clean. A nice hotel. But Balthazar’s refusal to say over the phone, by text or in an email what the hell the emergency meeting was over has left Gabriel feeling more than a little concerned. Having kicked up the aircon, Gabriel is trying hard not to sweat into his pricey, gray Gucci suit. His usually fluffy brown hair is wilting against his head a little.

There were so few scenarios where this kind of hush could be required. When Animus had come under Gabriel’s wing, he’d drawn up plans with Balthazar and Anna as to contingencies for various situations. Just to make sure they could salvage the band from nearly enough anything—they were worth more together. And had a better chance of survival if they limited the chance of leaks to the press. It was sleazy to think that they had plans together for what to do if one of the members were accused of certain crimes—it makes Gabriel feel icky to remember that they do have such contingencies planned out.

 _But you gotta be realistic_ , Gabriel consoles himself as he waits. He’s pleased that Anna hadn’t been called in yet, anything they could do to keep and news away from the band’s record company would be a bonus. Picking up the tiny cup of espresso he’d ordered some three minutes earlier, Gabriel allows himself to hope that the situation is just some minor hiccup. Just a little something-something that would just go badly if some gossip columnist got their hands on it.

Sniffing at the espresso, Gabriel scrunches up in his nose. _Sugar…_ putting the tiny cup down, Gabriel proceeds to drop three cubes of white sugar into the cup and then uses a spoon to mix/crush the sugar into the espresso. Satisfied that the rapidly cooling liquid is now just the right level of tooth rotting sweet, Gabriel picks his cup up and slowly drinks his espresso.

Nobody has ever claimed that Gabriel lacks a sense of humor. He spent his entire education finding means and ways to bring laughter and hijinks to those around him. From cellophane over toilet bowls, to meat offcuts sewn into rucksacks—Gabriel had been involved in many shenanigans over the years. But hiding dirt from the media was an entirely crappier kettle of fish.

 _Which is worse? Unplanned pregnancy with a groupie or coming out as gay? I mean, I got no issues with either, but I can never tell with Milton’s lot… and the conservative media would have a damn field day. Like those dicks need more to accuse the boys of being devil worshippers…_ Looking through more emails on his Blackberry, Gabriel spots one from Charlie and opens it. _Oh for the love of…_ The message from Charlie isn’t what he wanted to read— _Dear Becky, why must you continue to post to the Animus MySpace and website?_ Pressing reply, Gabriel quickly types out an email asking Charlie to do what she can to keep Becky off the page and the official site. But even he knows Becky will just change her IP address and usernames again.

There’s a knock at the door and Gabriel gets up from the couch, stashing his cell inside his suit jacket pocket. Reaching the door, he checks the spyhole and sees his clients with Benny, Balthazar and Meg. _Why do I feel like I’m gonna want two dozen purple nurples after this? Hmm, maybe I should just call room service now._ Letting out a long breath, Gabriel turns the door handle, unlocking it and pulls the oak effect door inwards. Gabriel doesn’t say anything, just holds the door open and lets the crowd troop in. There’s none of the usual smiles on anyone’s faces.

Cold dread curls icily inside Gabriel’s stomach as he prepares himself for the worst. Throwing an arm towards the lounge area he waits as everyone finds a seat, quirking an eyebrow when Dean, Sam and Castiel take the largest couch and sit together—shoulders hunched like children who know they’re about to get a telling off.

Shutting the door and letting it lock, Gabriel walks over to the seats and stands between the seats so he can see everyone. “So, what’s up kiddos? We got a baby on the way? A heroin habit someone needs to kick? Gambling debts with the mob? C’mon, don’t all speak at once: what the fuck is up?”

The band’s practically squirming in their seats at this point. Gabriel can clearly see their discomfort, but it’s Balthazar who speaks up first. “We called you in, because it appears that Dean, Sam and Castiel are… in a long term relationship with each other.”

“Well, of course they are, they’re band mates. Best friends. Tends to be a long term relationship, Balthy.”

“What Balthazar is trying to say,” Dean speaks up in a voice that is slightly more hysterical than usual, “is that Sam, Castiel and I are fucking each other. And that he would like you to help keep this out of the press.”

 _So you’re together, so—oh… oh… SHIT_ , Gabriel thought to himself as the true extent of what had just been revealed to him begins to sink in. Revulsion isn’t his first reaction. No, Gabriel’s first reaction is to just stare at Animus in dumb shock, mouth hanging open. But it all starts to make a weird kind of sense. The way that Michael had shot the new album cover and how… involved the three of them had looked. The noises he’d heard walking past their dressing room the one time and Meg saying that none of them had dates. And—

“Okay, well thanks for letting me be the last to know. I mean, it’s not like I work night and day to keep your asses out of the fire. No, not like I ever do anything like that. You do know that Bela Talbot is still sniffing around like… well it doesn’t matter what like. The point is, is that it usually helps to let your PR guy in on shit like this,” Gabriel spiels off, more calmly than he’s probably thinking.

Quiet settles over the room. Somewhere further down the floor, the sound of a vacuum cleaner sucking away can be heard. And somewhere else, a couple is loudly having sex. Holding onto what sanity he has left, Gabriel can feel his jaw ticking with the effort of not screaming and trashing his room.

Instead he asks two important questions: “How long have you guys been doing this and who knows?”

***

A few awkward chords filter through their hotel room and rouse Castiel from the blankness of his mind. Dean is strumming lightly on his acoustic guitar, not really playing, just going with it and bringing together a melody that sounds like it’s part “Bad Moon Rising” and part “Don’t Fear the Reaper”. It’s like the three of them had been clinging to the side of a cliff, unable to pull themselves up, almost certain that they would fall to their deaths. But Gabriel hadn’t stood on their hands and made them fall, instead he’d lifted them up, told them he wished they’d said something sooner and set about making sure no one else other than their new security knew what was going on.

Benny is outside their room, briefing Rudy. Rudy appeared to be an okay guy, but Castiel is reserving his judgement for now. Stretching and getting up from the armchair he’d been stewing in, Castiel pads over to their door and locks it, cargo shorts slipping from his hips a little—the shorts are all he’s wearing. Dean’s strange melody continues. Distantly, Cas can hear the shower in their en suite as Sam washes up. Taking a moment to grab something from his case, Castiel decides he is certain of what he wants. What he needs to do. Walking over to Dean, who’s sat on the floor, legs crossed—wearing boxers and a black t-shirt—Cas stands in front of his lover and waits for him to stop playing.

It’s not like Gabe forbade them from being together. Though they were banned from fucking on rooftops. Cas was disappointed to give this compromise, _but we can’t have it all_.

“Dean…” Cas says in a low, gravelly voice that he knows Dean can’t help responding to.

There’s no missing the nervous swallow Dean makes as he stills his hands and looks up at Castiel. “Cas?”

The question is simple in the calling of his nickname: _do you want to play?_ And of course Castiel does. Has done since the night before. Castiel quirks his head to the right in answer and Dean puts his guitar down. The older brother gets to his feet and reaches a hand out towards Cas, stroking a thumb over his right hip and then bringing his mouth to Cas’s. Warmth flows from Dean to Castiel in the light press of their lips, and Cas feels the familiar speeding up of his own heartbeat. Familiarity could never stop the spike of love and arousal spreading through him.

Taking Dean over to the large, leather couch, Cas sits down on it. “Dean… I… you’ve been so good. And I would like to reward you.”

Biting his bottom lip, Dean nods. “I’m green, Cas.” Smiling at Dean, Cas drinks in the musician’s anticipation and the growing swell in his underwear.

Patting the top of his lap, Cas waits as Dean climbs over his knees and settles, draped over Castiel’s thighs. Cas pulls down Dean’s boxers, exposing his curved cheeks and fondly strokes them. “You aren’t to make a sound, unless it’s your safe word, and you aren’t allowed to come until I say so. Nod if you understand.”

An eager nod works its way out of Dean and Cas strokes along Dean’s cheeks some more. “I love you, Dean. I hope that you realize this.” Suddenly, Cas’s hand is gone and swings through the air, landing across Dean’s cheeks with a satisfying SMACK. The impact makes Dean huff out a sharp breath; shifting him, pressing him forwards and making his hard dick rub against the side of Castiel’s thigh. Making his stomach rub against Castiel’s own hardening length.

Hand stinging, the flare of pain satisfying like the redness swelling on Dean’s rump, Castiel brings his hand down again and spanks Dean. Setting a pace that’s not fast, but certainly constant, Castiel continues to smack Dean’s ass, the sound loud and clear as his hand meets those firm cheeks. Stopping for a moment, Castiel strokes Dean’s reddening flesh, fingers light over the now hot skin.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” Cas whispers to Dean, bending over his so his mouth is by Dean’s ear, “good boys get rewarded.” Cas kisses the side of Dean’s head and then pulls up. Picking up what he retrieved from his case, Castiel opens a bottle of lube and slicks up his left pointer finger. A shiver runs through Dean, but he doesn’t say anything as Castiel brings his finger to Dean’s hole.

A part of Castiel’s mind is aware that the shower stopped a few minutes ago. Slipping his finger into Dean’s hole, finding it easy to get past the first knuckle, such is Dean’s arousal—Castiel doesn’t hear the bare feet approaching them. He’s got his entire finger inside Dean before he realizes that Sam is standing back watching them.

Looking up and meeting Sam’s gaze, Castiel gives Sam a wicked smile and shifts his finger so that it presses right up against Dean’s prostate. A loud pant comes out of Dean, but he doesn’t cry. Castiel delights in watching Sam’s growing interest as he fucks his slick finger in and out of his brother’s hole. The slick wetness of the lube and the noises it’s making are entirely obscene. Sam’s only got a towel on, held around his waist, and his erection is almost poking out from between the folds of the damp fabric.

Pulling his finger out of Dean, making Dean shudder, and slicking up a second finger, Castiel flicks his gaze between the two brothers. Pressing both fingers into Dean, working his way past those tight rings of muscle, Castiel locks his gaze with Sam’s and relishes how Sam licks his lips. Delights in the darkening of the younger man’s eyes and the way Sam’s breathing starts to match Dean’s as Cas begins to really work his fingers to stretch Dean out. Sam starts reaching a hand down to his cock and Castiel shakes his head.

Sam stops and pleads with eyes. Castiel chuckles. “Mmm, Dean,” Castiel starts, pleased at how open Dean is, “would you like Sam to fuck you? Nod for yes, shake for no.”

A rapid nod from Dean has Cas pulling his fingers out and then fully undressing the older brother. “Sam, do you want to fuck Dean?”

“Yes,” Sam answers, voice deep with need.

Cas gets Dean to stand up, so that he’s towering over Cas as he remains on the sofa. “Dean, you’re gonna grip the back of the sofa, hands either side of my head and let Sam fuck you. But you’re still not allowed to come. You can, however make noise.” Cas looks around Dean to Sam. “Sam, you may come.”

The shaky breath that works its way out of Sam tells Castiel that the younger brother probably won’t last very long. Dean gets into position, face close enough for Cas to kiss. Sam’s up behind Dean without a moment’s hesitation, towel forgotten on the floor. Reaching over for the lube, Sam slicks his length up and then begins to enter Dean. Castiel watches Dean’s face as his brother pushes into him, slow and sure, until he bottoms out. The brothers breathe in unison and Castiel can see Dean’s pulse in his neck. Leaning up, Castiel presses a kiss against Dean’s neck, ignoring how the movement teases the head of his own cock.

Settling back down, Castiel bites his bottom lip as Sam makes his first experimental thrust, pulling out part way and then thrusting back in. The sharp movement must be good, because Dean moans. Taking a few more experimental thrusts, Sam winds his arms around his brother’s body and starts to fuck into Dean in earnest. Using his feet to help keep Dean’s legs spread and using his arms to help keep Dean in place—Castiel watches as Sam pounds into Dean.

Nostrils filling with the scent of sex, own dick wishing for release, Castiel watches Dean drowning in pleasure, but not allowed to come up for air. Not allowed the release his eyes tell Castiel he so desperately wants.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Dean cries. Castiel smirks as Dean closes his eyes and focuses on not coming.

Sam breathes hard as he fucks into his brother. If Cas listens carefully, he can catch the praise tumbling from Sam’s lips, telling Dean he’s beautiful and sweet. That he’s being so good for them.

Hips smacking against Dean’s red rear, Sam shouts and swears, and Castiel sees Sam’s fingers digging into his brother. And then Sam’s lips find Dean’s shoulder and he bites down as he comes, spilling into Dean. Shuddering movement translating through Dean into Castiel’s arms as Dean cries. Giving Sam a moment to catch his breath, Cas looks down underneath Dean and sees his leaking cock.

Dean yelps as Sam pulls out and Castiel knows it’s because he’s overly sensitive from stimulation. There’s a pleading look in Dean’s eyes and Castiel shifts Dean off of him. Stepping out of his shorts, aching cock finally free, Castiel leads Dean to the side of the couch and bends him over an arm. Taking a moment to make sure there’s enough lube, Cas lines himself up with Dean.

Sliding into Dean in one swift moment, Castiel groans happily as he feels Dean’s heat envelope him. Lube and Sam’s come slick Castiel’s way as he begins to pivot his hips, setting a fast and desperate pace. Over Dean’s shoulders, Castiel can see Sam kissing his brother as he kneels on the couch in front of them. Dean’s body is laid out before Castiel, strong muscles shifting and rippling as he pants into Sam’s mouth.

“Hope you realize how gorgeous you are,” Cas moans, “how perfect you are, Dean. You were made for our cocks.” In reply, Dean cries into Sam’s mouth.

Driving himself in again and again, Castiel revels in the clenching of Dean’s hole around him as the older Winchester tries his best not to come. Admires the supple strength of Dean’s body. Luxuriates in the fucked out look on Sam’s face that he occasionally sees. Gabriel had taken their news better than Balthazar. And while they had made promises about no more rooftops, no one had said anything about noise. Nothing about not fucking each other silly in hotel rooms.

Pressure building, balls tight and heavy, Castiel leans forward and says to Dean, “You may come.” The words have hardly left Castiel’s lips when he feels Dean seize around him, body finally allowed to give into pleasure. Sam catches Dean’s scream.

But there’s no one to catch Castiel’s loud shout as Dean’s orgasm drags Castiel’s out of him in near unison. Pumping thick and hot into Dean, filling him with each thrust, Castiel shouts, “Fuck, FUCK, FUCK!”

 _If Rudy thinks Benny is joking about us and our... unique relationship, he won’t be thinking it’s a joke now_ , Castiel thinks to himself as he lazily wipes Dean’s come off the side of the couch. Sated and tired, the three of them stumble over to the room’s large bed and curl up together, becoming a mass of limbs.

***

Feeling calmer than when he’d left Cincinnati, Dean knows his cheeks are a little redder than normal. _You guys are gonna be the death of me_ , Dean jokes to himself as he’s led to their dressing room. The concert, their performance in it, is in less than an hour and Dean keeps thinking back to their hotel room to stop himself from feeling nervous. After all, it’s not very often that you get to sell 28,000 tickets for the Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre. Chicago loves them it seems. But that doesn’t mean it’s not anxiety inducing.

The concert tonight was going to be one of the biggest of their career so far. And he was kinda glad Jessica Moore, Innate, would be opening for them again. The larger the audience, the more awkward it could be going in cold. And Jess had done a great job back in New York, though every time Dean lets himself remember the ways she’d looked at Sam, he feels a furl of jealousy. _No need to get all territorial, you know who Sam’s got eyes for._

Dean hears the screams of thousands of people and a few test beats as Innate take to the stage. The show had begun. Fiddling with his hair for the hundredth time, trying to get it to stick up just right as he looks in the mirror, Dean sighs, deciding that it’s not going to get any better and gets up from his seat. He’s not completely dressed yet, black jeans not yet buttoned. Closing them up, he heads over to a clothes rail and starts looking through the shirts there. There’s a knock at the dressing room door.

“Yo, Dean,” Sam calls, “it’s us.”

Dean can’t help smiling as he heads over to the door and lets his brother and Cas in. They haven’t changed yet either, still in their clothes from the hotel. Dean welcomes the wrapped, fresh burritos that they’ve brought as tribute. “Please say that has all the sauce,” Dean says excitedly taking the burrito offered to him.

“Why don’t you bite it and see,” Sam teases with a wink that leaves Dean blushing as blood starts pooling in his cock. _No, no, we do not have time for this!_ Dean berates himself as he shifts out of the reach of temptation.

Topless, Dean unwraps his burrito and drinks in the scent of avocado slices and extremely hot chili sauce. It had been years since they’d gotten burritos from this particular independent place, but Dean had insisted they get some before the concert.

A particularly loud round of audience applause ripples through the venue and sends a wave of anticipation through Dean.

“Jess seems to be warming them up,” Castiel states as he starts eating his own burrito.

“Mmmhmmm,” Dean manages as he eats his food. They work through their meal and clean up. Getting dressed in their usual dark jeans and t-shirts, with Dean opting for his blood red long sleeved shirt over the top, Dean steals kisses from Sam and Cas.

The hour passes quickly, and soon enough they’re waiting on the wings of the stage as a crew sets out their kit as Innate’s is taken off. Catching Sam’s eye, Dean gives his brother a wink. There’s an excitement running through him that he can only put down to Gabriel not leaving them out to dry.

Those closest to them were on their side and Dean hasn’t felt so happy before playing in a long time. Regardless of all the crap they had had to put up with so far, Dean feels like tonight is their night. That the 28,000 people there won’t know what the hell hit them.

Animus is going to leave them screaming and begging for more—Dean’s pretty sure of this. He presses his ear piece to his ear and checks it’s staying in okay.

“Nervous?” Castiel asks above the hubbub of the waiting crowd.

“No, excited,” Dean corrects him. “Can’t you… feel it?”

Sam slaps a hand down on Dean’s shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

“Yo!” Meg calls from behind and approaches them. “Ready?”

The three of them nod at Meg and then to face the stage once more.

“C’mon, let’s do this!” Dean shouts and leads the way onto the stage.

Stepping out in front of their fans and Innate’s, Dean lets the wave of appreciative screams and shouts wash over him as he approaches his microphone and electric guitar. He waits for Sam and Cas to take their positions before shouting into the mic: “GOOD EVENING, CHICAGO!”

Licking his lips, Dean winks at the crowd, knowing that they’ll see, thanks to the cameras trained on them so that they’re visible on huge screens either side of the stage. “Isn’t Innate fantastic? But I hope you’re not too tuckered out, because have we got a show for you!”

Screams and shouts carry through the crowd and Dean waits for Sam to get “Root of Harmony” going. The sea of people before them, all wide happy faces, devotion clear on many, opens up before Dean and swallows him in as Sam starts to sing. Helping to shelter Dean from the lyrics.

“Hiding in the past. As if the now doesn’t matter,” Sam sings. For Dean, the words always pick at the wound left by last summer, the one he bears on his heart.

But despite that moment of sorrow, Dean gets into the full swing of playing the concert, letting the crowd’s energy drive him through their setlist. Once they reach the end of the second half of their part of the concert, the audience demands an encore. None of them, however, feel like doing any of their own tracks.

Standing with Sam and Cas, Dean confers with them as to what they should do. “I wanna play…” Dean begins, “But…”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Sam says over the roar of the crowd. “But can we do a cover?”

Castiel looks thoughtful and scrunches up his face as he thinks. “What if… you were almost playing it earlier, Dean, but what if we did a cover of “Bad Moon Rising”, hmm?”

They all know how to play it, having learned it at separate points. But it’s a bit of a downer, still… _It’s a classic_. “Let’s do it.”

The three of them head back to their instruments. Sam leads them in, pockets of excited squeals from older fans let them know that they made a good choice. Dean starts singing, “I see a bad moon rising,” and by the second line, it sounds like the whole audience is singing along, “I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightnin'. I see bad times today.”

It’s a short track and they work through it, ending with a rapturous round of applause that’s near deafening. Heading off stage, Dean follows Meg as they’re led through the back of the amphitheatre and to a VIP area. Sometimes Dean wonders if it’s possible to feel high from putting on a good show, because that is how he feels right now as they’re led into the suite. Rudy joins them, short brown hair and beard neatly trimmed, suit promising that if anyone fucks with them he won’t hesitate to kick them out. _Just need to sign some crap, say a few encouraging words and then we’re out of here_ , Dean reassures himself, itching already to spend some time chilling with Sam and Cas.

“Just a sec, I need the men’s room. Be right back,” Sam says and doesn’t give Rudy a chance to call Benny in. But Dean’s hardly registering this as he goes and grabs a beer from a pail filled with ice. Screwing the bottle cap off, Dean takes a long chug before looking around and seeing Balthazar and Benny approach with a small crowd of lucky fans who have backstage passes.

“So here we are, please do not crowd Dean, Castiel and Sam. And do not ask them to autograph any body parts,” Balthazar explains as the fans are brought in.

A permanent marker finds its way into Dean’s hand and he’s soon signing CD cases, t-shirts, baseball caps and all manner of merchandise. When the fifth fan to approach him hands over a CD case, Dean pauses to really look at the young woman with her black-purple hair, familiar smile and a silver, heart shaped locket that he swears he’s seen before.

“Hi, could you make this out to “Annie” please,” the fan asks, leaning forward a little, which makes the locket turn around on its chain—flashing the words carved into the back of its silver casing. The back reads: “For Mary, Love John”.

In that brief second of recognition, Dean feels all the color drain from his face and goosebumps cover his body. He points to the locket and asks in a shaking voice, “Where did you get that locket from? May… I see inside?”

“Sure you can see inside,” Annie replies and opens the locket, “some older guy gave it to me before the show.”

“Oh… did he now. What... did this guy look like?” Dean asks, as he goes to look at the photos inside the locket.

“Uhhh, light brown hair, really pale blue eyes. Oh and he really smelled of cigarettes…”

“Cigarettes…” Dean says slowly taking in the pictures inside the locket. On one half is a four year old Dean holding onto a five month old Sammy and the other half has John entwining his arms around Dean and Sam’s mother, Mary.

“If you like, you can have it,” Annie offers, seeming to think she’s being helpful. She takes the chain off while Dean still holds onto the locket part.

“Thank you…” Dean drags his eyes away from the locket for a moment and looks at the CD case cover he hasn’t signed yet. “Annie, right?”

Annie nods and Dean takes the lid off his marker. Quickly signing the cover, Dean gives Annie a fake smile, before rushing over to Balthazar in another corner of the room. “What the hell is this?!” Dean almost snarls, shoving the locket in Balthazar’s face.

For a second, his manager is shocked, but then he takes the item of jewelry from Dean and studies the case before opening it and seeing who is inside. “How have you seemingly come across a locket from your… dearly departed mother?” Balthazar asks in a low voice.

“A girl, Annie, was wearing it.” Dean points to her as Castiel wanders over for a moment to see what all the fuss is about. “Says some guy with light brown hair and who stank of cigarettes gave it to her before the show.”

“Who gave what?” Cas asks. Balthazar holds out the locket and Dean quirks a head towards Annie.

“That girl over there gave it to me after I spotted it. I swear mom use to have a locket just like this when I was little.” Fear starts to wind its way through Dean. Chilling him and leaving him desperate to seek sanctuary.

“Okay, this backstage session is over,” Balthazar announces to Cas and Dean, “let’s get Sam and get the three of you back on the bus.”

Dean scans the room a moment and frowns, heartbeat speeding up as panic begins to take hold. He fails to see Sam anywhere. “Where’s Sam?”

Waving Benny and Rudy over, Balthazar asks if they’ve seen Sam, to which they both admit no. Before Dean knows what’s happening all the fans have been escorted into another room and venue security and Benny are doing a sweep of the amphitheatre, looking for Sam. Balthazar talks with Meg and Garth as they do a search outside the venue, half-shouting into his cell.

When the cops show, Dean’s sobbing into his hands and Castiel is rubbing his back, as he asks himself, over and over: _where’s Sammy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the cover art for Animus's second album. I really like what somuchcolour managed to pull together for this :)
> 
> I have to admit, writing this week has been super hard. The EU Referendum result in the UK made it dificult to get in the headspace necessary for me to write, sucking away my creativity for the past few days. But I got there in the end.
> 
> Comments and kudos are forever welcome. And I will endeavor to respond to all comments.


	11. Rotten

Fire burns in Castiel’s belly. Whoever was the fool to take Sam would find there would be hell to pay. And it’s clear that Sam was taken. They’re still at the Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre and it’s been several hours since Sam was disappeared from the location. Security found footage of a guy dressed in janitor overalls, but his face was obscured by a cap. The footage showed... Showed…

Castiel wants to vomit, but there’s nothing left for him to bring up. The burritos have already left the building. Left like Sam in footage, which showed a “janitor” getting Sam in a headlock, having snuck up on him from behind near the restroom. The monster had cut off Sam’s air supply and then dragged him out of the building, but the cameras couldn’t quite get a fix as to where they’d left. Strangely the footage started to distort and go weird after Sam had been abducted.

Beside Cas, sat on a couch that he wishes they could leave, Dean just holds his face in his hands and doesn’t say anything. It hurts to see Dean so shut off and hopeless. Whatever spark the evening had ignited in Dean is now gone and Cas prays that Sam is going to be found soon.

Of course the moment the police had been called in, they’d acted like Sam had probably just wandered off and there was nothing to worry about. That he was just some highly strung celebrity who was having a bit of a moment. That he would be back soon. It took Benny, Rudy and the venue’s security to call bullshit on that and point to the footage.

A long, shaky sigh escapes Dean and he sits up. Cas rubs small circles into his back, being careful even though he wants to wrap his arms around the older brother. “I should,” Dean says shakily, “I should call Bobby, let him know what’s happened. But...” Dean swallows and he can’t finish what he was going to say.

“Hey,” Cas says in a soothing voice, “I’ll call Bobby and Meg and I will get him on the next flight here, okay?”

Dean nods in agreement. Castiel can see the way his lover’s body tenses as it turns towards him, muscles straining in an aborted hug. They needed to get somewhere private, but at the same time there was no way that Cas or Dean wanted to be away from the hub of information on all of this… and they might be needed for more questioning. The police had asked them a whole bunch of questions already, and acted incredulously towards the mentions of the bear and the locket. Though both had been taken away as evidence.

And sure: everyone at first thought the guy grabbing Sam had been his dad, but Dean and Cas pointed out that even with the cap, the guy was slimmer than John and a little shorter. But also that it would have been easier for John to get Sam out of the building without force, regardless of their feelings for each other.

“I’ll call Bobby,” Cas says, pulling out his cell and waving Meg over. He finds Bobby’s number and Meg stops beside them. “Hey, Meg, think you can start looking into flights for Bobby?”

“Sure thing, sweetie. Anything else you boys need?” Meg asks, face full of concern.

“Could I… could I get some coffee and apple pie?” Dean asks, voice wavering a little.

“Absolutely,” Meg says, voice comforting and serious, like she’ll get the job done. She pulls out her cell and sets off to look at flights while saying something to one of the venue managers about coffee and pie.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Cas thinks as he hits dial on Bobby’s number. It’s late, but Bobby needs to know and ideally needs to come out to Chicago. It rings a couple of times and then Bobby finally picks up.

“Cas, what are you,” Bobby yawns, “doing callin’ this late, son? Is everything okay?” The term of endearment buoys Cas for what he has to do.

Taking a steadying breath, Cas pulls together what he needs to say without making it sound like he’s panicking, which he is—still, he doesn’t need to panic Bobby. “Uh, Bobby, something’s happened to Sam and we need you to come out to Chicago.”

“What do you mean, something’s happened to Sam?” Bobby’s voice is already sounding more alert.

“Sam’s missing, Bobby. And we could really use you out here,” Cas explains, still rubbing Dean’s back. Meg comes over and holds her cell up with several flights Bobby could get. “We can buy you a flight out, how’s nine tomorrow morning?”

There’s nothing but Bobby’s breathing on the other end as he seems to do some mental arithmetic to figure out whether flying’s quickest or whether he should drive out. “Nah, forget the flight. I’ll drive if that’s the earliest flight you can get. I can get to you before that flight gets me in.”

“If you’re sure, Bobby.”

“I’m sure. Before I hang up: how’s Dean taking this?”

Castiel looks over at his lover and studies the tense set of his jaw before answering, “Not well.”

“Hardly surprising,” Bobby says calmly, “I’m gonna hang up now and get packed an’ on the road. You call me if there’s any news, understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. You keep an eye on Dean and make sure your people keep an eye on you. I’ll see ya in the morning.” Bobby hangs up then, clearly desperate to get on the road.

Stowing his cell, Cas stops stroking Dean’s back and gives him a quick one armed hug. Then the pie and coffee is here, being wheeled in by a woman with brown eyes and long brown hair, she’s dressed casually in jeans and a loose blouse. Her warm face looks friendly enough, but Cas feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he regards her.

“Somebody ask for pie?” The woman smiles at Cas and then Dean, making Cas want to shiver.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” Dean answers.

The woman smiles and sets the pie and coffee down on a table by their couch. It takes Cas a moment to realize there’s food and drink for him too, though his pie is cherry. He assumes Meg asked for him.

“T—thanks,” Cas manages and the woman leaves them to their food.

Dean and Cas eat their slices of pie in silence, the dance of investigators, Balthazar, Gabriel and the venue organizers carrying on around them. Benny and Rudy are both keeping a respectful distance from Dean and Cas, but maintaining a watchful eye over them. Meg is circling the floor, powerless to help now. And somewhere, outside, must be Garth keeping watch on the tour bus.

Cas is almost done with his coffee when a man in a dark charcoal suit waltzes into the VIP lounge, bald head and closely trimmed beard looking like armor rather than signs of age. The man’s stance speaks of an authority that none of the police officers or detectives they’ve dealt with have. He’s confident as he snags a passing cop and gets pointed towards Dean and Cas. The man waltzes up towards them, making Benny and Rudy circle round to Dean and Castiel’s side.

“Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak,” the man says in a smooth, deep voice as he pulls out an FBI badge and shows it to them, “I’m FBI Special Agent Victor Henriksen. Now, I know you’ve already spoken with the police, but do you mind answering some questions for me?”

***

It’s the smell that wakes Sam up. Pulling him up from his false slumber and making his stomach churn. The rancid stench of rotten eggs surrounds Sam and he doesn’t understand why. His body is on something soft and he slowly opens his eyes. Gloomy light filters in through slats affixed to the exterior of the room’s few windows. It’s not a very big room. He’s laid out on a thin mattress, still in his concert clothes.

Testing his limbs, flexing his fingers, Sam ascertains nothing’s been damaged, though his throat feels like it’s been partially crushed. He could really go for some water and as he looks out across the small room, he spots a desk and a chair. On the desk is a bottle of water.

Slowly, so as to make as little noise as possible, Sam gets out of the bed and creeps across to the desk. Beside it there’s a bucket and toilet roll. The smell has pretty much gone now, his nose no longer able to distinguish it from the general funk of the building. It’s not warm, but it’s not exactly cold either, a small amount of heat appears to be coming from the room’s single radiator.

Sam can imagine it now: being locked up in some old apartment in a derelict tenement; nine floors below him housing an ancient furnace that looks like something out of a futurist's depiction of Hell. Reaching the water, Sam cracks the bottle open and takes short sips of water, throat muscles angry at being worked. Replacing the cap, he puts the bottle back down on the desk and looks around the room again. There really isn’t much.

Going back to the bed and sitting on it, Sam tries to understand what happened. He remembers going to the men’s room at the concert venue, remembers coming out and then… _And then that was when I must have been jumped_ , Sam concludes and sighs.

He looks at the door again and gets up. There’s a keyhole, and Sam expects to find the door locked. He tries the handle, quietly, and the door doesn’t budge. Sure, Sam could try to do the whole helpless thing, but unfortunately—as far as Sam was concerned when he thought about much of his stolen childhood—his dad taught him how to pick locks before Bobby gained custody of him and Dean.

Looking around the room again, eyes accustomed to the low light, Sam doesn’t immediately see anything he can use. And then he lifts up the mattress and spots a rusting spring that’s just ready to be snapped off. Teasing the ancient metal between his fingers, it takes a minute or two, but finally Sam coaxes the spring free. Fingers shaking from building adrenaline, he works the spring into crude picks for use on the door.

 _I don’t care who’s dragged me into this mess, I need to get out and find Dean and Cas_ , Sam thinks as he starts to work on the door’s lock. He’s out of practice, but after a minute of gently easing his crude tools around the inside of the lock, it clicks and the door slides towards him. Stowing his picks in his pockets, Sam steps out as quietly as he can with his usual black boots on.

He walks out into a hallway, a moth eaten carpet on the floor. Here, Sam can hear the distant rumble of traffic, suggesting that it’s time for the main commuter rush in the city. Sam’s guessing he’s still in Chicago, though, but as he doesn’t feel like he’s been drugged—and lost time—it makes the most sense considering the style behind the decaying building.

All the other doors in the apartment are open. Drawing up alongside the bathroom, Sam cowers back at the sight of shit stained walls and a tub that looks like someone died in it at some point, reddish, brown murky water still inside. Fear sneaks in alongside the adrenaline Sam had been feeling and he feels less sure of himself as he moves on to the next room.

It’s another bedroom, but this one has no furniture, just an old framed photograph on the wall. Curiosity gets the better of Sam and he wanders over to the image and tries to study it. He can make out that it’s a black and white photo, with a couple standing in front of an old farmstead. Their attire and the pick-up in the background suggests early 1940’s. But there’s no missive on the picture to say who the man and woman are or where they are.

Sam leaves the empty bedroom and makes his way to what was once an open plan kitchen and living room. The kitchen counters are mouldering away and there’s a rotting couch falling to pieces in the living room area. But there’s no sign of whoever abducted Sam. Not even a seat set up so they could keep a vigil over him. Trying not to get his hopes up too much, Sam approaches what must be the apartment’s entrance and peers through the spy hole in the door. The door smells of rotting wood.

On the other side of the door is nothing but blackness. What little light that is filtering into the decrepit apartment is not making its way into the hallway on the other side of the door. Sam tries the handle, but this door is also locked. Slipping out his crude lockpicks, Sam sets to work again, picking the lock. It’s harder than the bedroom door’s lock, but after several minutes of fiddling, Sam finally hears a series of clicks and the door swings towards him.

Putting his picks away, Sam steps out into the hallway and wishes he had a flashlight. Distantly, from some grime covered cupola, set into the top of the stairwell that serves the hallways of the building, there comes some light. But in the vast darkness that surrounds Sam on either side, he knows the light isn’t enough to help him see if the floorboards have rotted through.

 _Should I stay or should I go?_ Sam ponders. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he can’t help wondering that maybe this was his abductor’s intention all along. After all, he hadn’t been restrained. _Maybe they want me break my neck?_ It’s not a comforting thought, but Sam’s always tried to be as logical as possible for every aspect in his life, bar matters of the heart.

Twisting back to look at the apartment he’d been left in and then back to the gloomier void beyond, Sam makes a choice. Shifting carefully into the hallway, Sam keeps his steps measured and slow, through the gloom he can just about make out that to his left is the way down, so he follows it, sticking to the side of the hallway that has walls rather than railings.

Everything around him is vague shapes and strange textures, he keeps a hand on the wall, tapping it as he walks. His hearing strains for even the slightest creak that’s too loud—too loud could mean the floor’s about to give way or there’s someone heading towards him.

Finding the stairs, Sam takes his time going down them. His heart is beating so loudly in his chest and he’s trying desperately to convince himself that he can do this. That he can make his way out of this place and find his family again. _You can do this. You can do this. You can do this…_

Finally, he touches down on the next floor and begins to gently walking towards where he assumes the next staircase will be. After a few steps, Sam’s eyes adjust a little more and he sees a bright, yellow light glowing out from under one of the apartment doorways. The air is tainted with the scent of freshly burning cigarettes and a hint of rotten eggs. _What if that’s them?_ Sam worries, panic trying to get the better of him. Deciding he should just head past the door and make his way down the next flight of stairs, Sam slowly walks towards the door and is about to step past it when it screeches open on rusted hinges.

“Sammy boy! You’re just in time,” greets a strange man, voice husky, with blue eyes and light brown hair. He’s tall and wearing a dark, button down shirt and dark jeans. He looks familiar, with his worn face and devilish grin. “I was wondering when you would wake up.” Behind him glows several camping lanterns. “Come on in, don’t be shy!”

The man steps back from the door and motions for Sam to come inside. He could run right now, he really could, but if he ran he would be even more likely to fall. Stomach feeling like there’s snakes coiling inside it, Sam walks into the apartment as the man leads the way into the kitchen.

“Now, Sam, I’d like to introduce you to my little family. I believe you’ve met Ruby before,” starts the man, his likely abductor, but Sam can feel his eyes bug out as he looks at Ruby’s familiar face, “and you may have met Alex/Annie before,” the man gestures to a young woman with her black-purple hair. “These are just a few of my nearest and dearest.”

Sam just stays where he’s stood. His brain works through the information laid out before him, and he remembers where he’s seen the man before. “You were at the concert in Cincinnati,” states Sam, looking at the man.

“Guilty as charged,” the man grins, “I’m a real big fan of yours and Dean’s. Though Dean doesn’t really have any place in what I’m trying to bring together here. Least not yet,” the man rambles on.

“What’s your name?” Sam asks, voice only just above a whisper.

“Azazel,” proclaims the man. “Now, I’m sure you’re hungry, but we got a few more matters to take care of first. Why don’t you take a seat for a moment and then I’ll getcha some grub. Whaddya say?”

Sam doesn’t say anything. He just nods and sits on a free seat. He wants to run, and if he could get his hands on one of those lanterns then maybe he could, but he wouldn’t get very far from his current starting position.

_What the hell should I do?_

***

The hotel room feels too empty without Sam. Dean’s happy to be out of the venue for now, but he feels like a part of himself as been cut away. He’s so worried. What he wants is to head out looking for Sam, like he would have done before they were famous. But the cops aren’t sure if him and Cas are targets too, so they’re under lock down for now. Dean feels so useless and helpless and he hates it.

Room service brought up some hot coffee not long ago and Dean’s trying to drink his, but it tastes like ash in his mouth. Cas is texting back and forth with Meg, sat beside him on the couch that less than a day ago they had all been fucking on. That Henriksen agent guy was meant to be coming over to the hotel, having decided that the concert venue didn’t have enough privacy for the interview he wanted to conduct. He asked what the police asked and checked their answers against record and then said he’d meet them at the hotel.

That was three hours ago and they’re still waiting for Henriksen to stop by. It’s coming up to five in the morning and Dean’s not sure that if he closes his eyes whether he’ll be able to sleep again. _We’re gonna find Sammy. We’re gonna find Sammy. We’re gonna find Sammy._

There’s a knock on the door and Cas gets up from the couch. Dean doesn’t watch as his lover opens the door, doesn’t listen when he greets whoever it is. Suddenly Henriksen is sat down in front of Dean, face serious and grave.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was helping to check out a lead. It’s something,” Henriksen states, giving Dean a smile, “and I don’t want to get your hopes up, but my partner is chasing that lead down as we speak, alongside Chicago’s finest.”

“Then why are you here?” Cas asks bluntly.

“There’s another angle to the case that makes it more than just an abduction… Dean, what did your father ever tell you about the house fire that killed your mom?”

Dean had been about to reiterate what Cas was implying, asking why Henriksen wasn’t looking for his little brother. But Henriksen’s question catches him off guard. “Uhhh, he thinks some dude started the fire deliberately.”

Leaning forward in his seat and rubbing at his jaw, Henriksen looks Dean straight in the eye and says, “Your father’s correct and I need to contact him. Do you have a way of getting in touch?”

“What the hell does this have to do with Sammy being taken?!”

“Pretty much everything,” Henriksen shoots back, expression grim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, but I used the weekend to push through getting a complete draft of my Wincest Big Bang fic done.


	12. Guiding Light

Pouring a cup of strong black coffee—the kind that’s been waiting underneath a filter for an eternity and will sprout hair on your person without a moment’s notice, just by sniffing it—and looking at the power bars he’d foraged from the gas station store, Bobby sighs. He sets down the coffee pot and heads over to the register. It had been a long night and the day was going to be even longer. An hour and a half out of Chicago, Bobby would have just kept on driving, but he’s flagging. Nowhere near as young as he use to be, the night time dash across state lines hasn’t sat well with his usual sleeping routine. Use to be years ago he could miss a night’s sleep and catch up on a couch, any couch, for a couple of hours during the following afternoon.

But right now he could do with someone else driving or at least someone to slap his face to keep him awake. Paying for his gas, coffee and snacks, Bobby tries to keep his thoughts away from why he is driving to Chicago. Out on the forecourt, Bobby’s 1971 Chevrolet looks like it’s seen better days, what with all its rust and peeling paint. Much like its owner as he makes his way back to the car, dumps his stuff and finishes pumping gas into the car. _Not far now_ , Bobby reassures himself and then gets into his car, adjusting his old cap and rolling up a red plaid sleeve that’s dragging around his right hand. He pulls out of the gas station and returns to the interstate.

Bobby’s hands tightly grip the steering wheel, knuckles going almost white as he tries to remain calm, because his boys need him to be there for them. Be there for them like their real father never was. It’d be false to say that when Dean and Sam had come to live with him that it had been all kittens and rainbows, but Booby holds a fierce love for those boys. And the cruel thoughts that keep swirling around inside his head like a persistent fog, clouding his hopes, is making it difficult for Bobby to keep his cool.

Not wanting to be pulled over and further delayed, Bobby keeps to the speed limit and heads on towards Chicago. Rolling his window down a little to let the chill morning air help keep him awake as he takes sips of his coffee. It isn’t the last time he’d made a mad dash across the country on account of Sam, though that time he’d flown.

That time? Sam had ended up in hospital after a fire had started in the apartment he shared with Dean and Cas. Kid had been asleep in bed, alone, later swearing blind he’d left nothing on, and a fire had started from the stove in the kitchen. Smoke inhalation, minor burns and a broken collarbone were not things Bobby believed Sam would be signing up for when he got offered a scholarship at Stanford. He knew that whenever Sam refers in interviews to how hard college was for him, he’s referencing back to the fire.

To this day, Bobby still thinks one of Sam’s friends started the fire, but he’s never been able to prove anything. Still, he found it strange that it happened on the _one night_ where Dean and Castiel had been elsewhere.

A shiver runs down Bobby’s spine at the thought of someone watching Sam, Dean and Cas. Keeping tabs on them, waiting to strike when they’re most vulnerable. It’s not that Dean and Sam’s lives had always been difficult, but trouble seems to have a way of finding them.

So if Bobby is more than a little edgy, more than just a bit concerned at the fact that Sam has been abducted? He’s got every right to be. Every right to feel like his whole world has just tilted sideways and he’s tumbling into some crazy nightmare that he has no control over. Except that he can be there and he can comfort Dean and Cas, maybe even help them find Sam.

Over the course of the next hour and a bit, Bobby finishes his coffee and manages to wrangle a power bar into his mouth. He’s ten minutes to the hotel where Cas told him they were staying when his cell starts vibrating in his pocket. Gingerly pulling the thing out and trying to maintain control of his car, Bobby frowns when he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” Bobby asks, voice a little hoarse, “Who is this?”

“Bobby, it’s John.”

Anger rises up and douses the fear that’s been sitting heavy in Bobby’s stomach. _Because of course the circus has come to town and he’s calling me. Has the damn audacity to call. Damnit, John, if you’re messed up in this, so help me I will get my shotgun and we will do more than just talk_.

“What do you want?” Bobby’s voice is gruff and cool.

“Now, listen, I know I’m not on the best of terms with the boys, but right now they’re in real danger.”

Bobby quakes with rage. He wishes he could just hang up, but if there’s the smallest chance that John knows something? “Sam’s missing,” Bobby blurts out, the words making his chest hurt.

A shaky breath comes down the line and Bobby can almost imagine John showing more genuine emotion than the man has exhibited in years. Emotions beyond the disgust and anger that John threw at Sam and Dean the previous summer. But John never raised those boys, so Bobby’s sympathy is limited for anything John WInchester may be feeling right now.

“What happened?” John finally croaks out, voice unnaturally high.

“I’m not sure. I’m heading to the hotel where Dean and Castiel are staying with their staff.”

“Bobby, _he_ took them,” John almost whispers down the line.

Seeing a sign for the street the hotel’s on, Bobby screws up his mouth a moment, before asking, “John, where are you right now?”

“Uhhh… Chicago.”

“Oh for… I’ll contact this number again, once I’ve seen the boys.” Bobby hangs up before John can reply.

Putting the cell down on the seat beside him, Bobby is looking around for the hotel when his cell starts buzzing again. Grabbing the thing, one hand on the steering wheel, he checks the number and sees that the caller ID has been withheld. _Great, who is it now?_ He presses answer.

“Who is this?” Bobby asks, voice curt.

“Hello, this is FBI Special Agent Victor Henriksen. Am I speaking to Bobby Singer?”

 _Must be someone investigating Sam’s disappearance!_ Bobby realizes. “Yes, this is Bobby Singer. What can I do for you, agent?

“I was wondering if you could tell me where John Winchester is?”

 _This has got to be my lucky day…_ Bobby thought sourly as he pulled up to the front of the hotel.

***

“Dean, are you awake?” Cas whispers. They’re alone in their room now, Henriksen currently checking up on the investigation.

Rolling over to face Cas and nuzzle at the other man’s chest, Dean sighs and murmurs, “No, can’t sleep.” And it is the truth. His eyes had demanded he close them, but Dean couldn’t reach the level of calm needed to do anything more than doze. Since Henriksen had left to check in with his partner, Dean had been been trying not to panic and the effort it took to control his emotions made sleep an impossible achievement.

Both Cas and Dean had been lectured at length by Henriksen about why the two of them could not, under any circumstances, go looking for Sam. Their lives were in danger as far as Henriksen was concerned and he’d gone as far as having several police officers stationed on their floor.

Cas reaches an arm around Dean, drawing him closer and begins to gently rub his back through the old black t-shirt he put on before getting into bed. “They’ll find Sam.”

“But Henriksen said this was tied all the way back to the fire,” Dean whimpers against Cas’s chest, trying to hold back tears. He feels useless and like half his heart has been torn out. Henriksen had been about to tell them how everything was linked when the agent had gotten a call from his partner and needed to leave.

“Doesn’t matter. I have faith that he knows what he’s doing,” Castiel says calmly, lips kissing the top of Dean’s forehead. The light pressure is reassuring and helps Dean center himself, clawing back the waves of panic that keep cresting inside of him. Dean would like more, but with everything going on, he knows it’s not the time nor the place for Cas to take control quite like that.

A knock on the room’s door leaves Dean suddenly bereft of Cas, his angel having scrambled out of bed to answer it. Dean groans, even though he’s not sleeping, as the lights are flipped on and the door to the suite creaks open.

“Cas, good to see you,” rumbles a familiar, welcome voice. “Is it okay if Agent Henriksen joins us?”

“You too, Bobby, and of course,” Cas replies, voice a little huskier than usual.

Dean climbs out of the bed, smoothing his gray sweats and t-shirt down as Bobby and Agent Henriksen walk into the hotel room. Never before has Dean been so glad to see Bobby.

“C’mere,” Bobby says gruffly, pulling Dean into a tight hug that drives the air from Dean’s lungs. It’s not that they don’t hug, _it just only seems to happen when the shit hits the fan_ , Dean thinks miserably.

“So,” Dean begins as Bobby finally pulls back from him, “Henriksen, what the hell is happening?”

“Your father is coming to the hotel,” Henriksen says, voice matter of fact.

If being asked several hours ago if he knew a way of contacting his dad had sent shivers down his spine then it compares to nothing now. Dean’s face twitches and he goes to sit down on the couch. “Well that’s just great.”

“Excuse me agent, but just how is all of this connected to the fire that caused the death of Dean and Sam’s mother?” Cas asks, sitting down beside Dean. Sitting maybe a little closer than necessary while in Henriksen’s presence, but Dean can’t bring himself to move away.

“As far as I can tell it’s the same guy and he fronts a group that’s been putting on this show for coming up to twenty four years,” Henriksen explains, stance tense, cell phone in hand. “The fires… the abductions. You’re not the only family that’s been affected. And that’s all I can say for now, but I’m hoping your father may have some intel on this that can help us get Sam back safe.”

“There’s no way you’ve been on this case for twenty-four years!” Scoffs Bobby.

“You’re right. I inherited it from my predecessor at the Bureau,” Henriksen shoots back. “But that doesn’t change the M.O. I’ve seen played out in more than a dozen states.”

“Agent, are you aware that Sam was involved in an apartment fire while he attended college?” Bobby asks, voice filled with worry.

There’s silence from Henriksen. And then the agent lets out a long breath and nods. “I am aware,” he states, but doesn’t go as far as to offer any further details.

Whatever reassurance Dean had been feeling with Bobby finally being there has slipped away. _There’s been others?_ Dean doesn’t hear much else of what Henriksen is saying as he sits forward in his seat and cups his face in his hands. _Other families have been screwed over like this? But… why us? Why mom? Why Sammy? Fuck… that fire in our apartment! Why the hell would he try to kill Sam and then take him? What’s he going to do to Sam? He obviously doesn’t want money… Sam… Sammy… SAM!_ Dean’s stomach is churning and before he can make a move for the bathroom, he vomits onto the floor in front of him. There’s not much, but the room and all in it feel far away as Dean’s hit by the full revelation of what Henriksen has said.

Hands are on him and there’s movement. Another knock on the door, but Dean’s walls are going up. He wants to fight, but he feels powerless to do so.

***

Yellow eyes loom above Sam and he wants to hide. But there’s no darkness to sink into. Reality is twisting in on itself and stretching Sam thin, making him unsure if he’s still in the crumbling kitchen or if he’s somewhere else. Somewhere worse. This world is a miasma of sloppy ochres, dripping and sliding over each other, forms incomplete as they bubble around Sam and fill his nostrils with earthy rot.

 _It was the tea!_ Sam finally understands and the image of the powder blue tea pot on an aged kitchen table swims before his stilted mind’s eye. And then this thought is gone as Sam’s world shifts again, the looming yellow eyes tilting and getting closer. Muscles taut with the thirst to flee, Sam feels as if his neck is going to snap and his head will fall off.

Briefly, the name “Azazel” comes to the forefront of Sam’s hurricane of thoughts. He doesn’t know his own mind right now, but he’s sure that name has meaning. That those yellow orbs before him, steady in the maelstrom that surrounds them, belong to that name. He grips— _grips, right, my hands are on something?_ —the table that he hasn’t left and tries to stand. Leg muscles confused with the motion, Sam slumps back down onto his chair.

“Sam, Sam, Sam: don’t fight it, just let the tea work its magic,” coos the yellow eyes.

 _No, no, no, nonononononono!_ Sam doesn’t want to stay there and let the tea work. He doesn’t recall why he agreed to drink it, but he knows he shouldn’t stay. A silver moon glimmers before his left hand. Sam grabs it, hefting its weight, and tries standing again. Tremors shake his legs, but Sam pushes away from the table, something falling over behind him.

Adrenaline making his skin pulsate and dance, making his muscles ripple with purpose, Sam takes his moon and runs. Noise bursts around him as a rabble of angry dogs bark and shriek— _do dogs shriek?_ Boots slapping against the floor, Sam pushes the moon forward and crashes through a wall of ooze. The ooze falls in heavy chunks around him and the dogs continue to cry, but he keeps running, using the moon to shine his way through the ooze.

 _Down, down, down, down, down…_ repeats over and over in Sam’s head as he flees through the sludge that surrounds him. He sees a chasm and for a moment it looks as if he can go no further, but then the moon shows him the way. Highlighting the simple stones that will take him downwards. Sam begins to climb, the barking getting closer again and starts to take more than two stones at a time.

Glowing fiercely from his hand, the moon shows him the way and Sam follows it, the miasma shifting around him as he hits the bottom of the chasm. _But it still goes deeper. Deeper. Need to go down further._ One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four. Sam follows a the moon and reaches another chasm, the barking sounding further away.

Air burning in his lungs, Sam pushes through a cascade of moths dropping dead from the dark sky above and he keeps running, letting the moon lead him down more stones. Nothing is going to stop him now, Sam’s decided as he keeps up with the moon in his hand. Powering down, down, down, down.

All Sam can hear now is the chorus of his beating heart and straining lungs. The moon finds no more yawning holes for Sam to climb down into. Feet dipping with every step, Sam’s not sure where to go. Turning on the spot, Sam gasps when the moon is obscured by a beam of light far brighter. Heat radiates from the streaming photons, but comfortably so. Taking tiny steps towards it, Sam sees the beam is coming from the side of a hole with a huge stone across part of it.

Taking a deep breath, Sam grabs the stone with his right hand, holding his moon high and pulls. The stone falls towards Sam and he dodges out of its way. Warm light fires across his body, so Sam steps into it, never before so happy to be surrounded by such warmth. There are more stones to step down, so Sam carefully makes his way down them, unable to quite see the new world he has entered. A world that smells so different from the one he’s just been in. Like sizzling pancakes and gasoline.

Far away, Sam hears the maw of a dragon closing over and over. Eyes adjusting to the new world, Sam looks around him and finds himself in the company of gray, towering trees that head up into the sky for miles. _Am I safe?_ Sam asks himself, as he starts to jog away from the earlier chasms he’d climbed through. _Where are Dean and Cas? I want Dean and Cas…_ Sam thinks to himself, a small whimper escaping him. The giant trees have rivers between them and Sam isn’t sure about trying to wade across them.

Walking beside the trees, Sam reaches the end of their bank. He needs to cross a river. Stepping carefully into the charcoal calm, Sam tries to believe he’s doing well. And then he hears a dragon and it bursts through the surface of the river, its shout deafening. The dragon doesn’t see Sam in time and collides into him, scales smashing and snarling around him as it shouts into the brightening sky. Sam’s left hand loses the moon and he falls into the river.

New world dimming around him, Sam feels like he’s floating along the river. Pain does not find him. At least not right now. His bottom lip feels sore—tasting copper—and he can see the moon floating beside him.

“Moon, please… come back,” Sam murmurs, shadows towering over him. No dragons screech at Sam, but he feels something warm on his forehead and then everything goes black.

***

“He’s lucky, really. Nothing more than a concussion, some bruised ribs, split lip and bruising on his legs and arms. Could have been so much worse. Anyway, I’ll leave you all so you can have a moment with Sam. No questions, understand? And yes, I’ll let you know when we have the drugs test back.” The third doctor they’ve seen today smiles at her waiting audience.

Castiel catches the reluctant nods from John and Bobby. Dean squeezes Cas’s hand even tighter, not seeming to care if anyone notices. Nodding back, the doctor leaves the private room, heading past police officers and Agent Henriksen. Sam hadn’t been able to answer any questions yet about this abduction so far. But the eyewitness statements, from those who had been there when Sam was hit by a car, made it clear Sam had been on something. On some kind of drug.

Bangs flopping over his face, eyes unfocused, Sam looks like a puppy who’s been kicked. Rage curdles through Castiel’s veins and he decides that this is worse than the fire. Worse than John finding out about them. All those times, Castiel didn’t want to kill anyone, but now he wants to find who did this and end them.

Until now, Castiel had hoped he’d seen the last of Sam being in hospital. Twisting away from the sight before him, Castiel turns to Dean and says, “Whoever did this, they will pay.”

“What, you gonna go all righteous on the driver?” Dean hisses.

“I mean the despicable excuses for life that took Sam and enabled this to happen,” Castiel bites back.

Stroking a hand down Castiel’s arms, Dean sighs and gives Cas a look that would normally make Cas lean in and kiss him. But there are too many sets of eyes. _And only the Lord knows how Gabriel and Balthazar are keeping the press away from the news that Sam’s laid up in hospital after being kidnapped!_ Castiel draws his bottom lip between his teeth and dreams of hugging Sam and Dean.

Bringing them close and just wrapping a blanket around them all so nothing bad can happen again. And then uncurling himself from Sam and Dean so he can step out into the night and bathe in the blood of the monster that insists on hurting them. _Whoever you are, you better hope that the FBI finds you first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating but I had a hectic week filled with personal stuffs. Good personal stuff, mind! Should be back to normal now.
> 
> Ooh! And I got a new Supernatural tattoo today (like 2 hours before posting this update). You can [check out my angel banishment sigil tattoo here](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/147489236555/its-done-angel-banishment-sigil-tattoo-it-hurts).


	13. Family

_Who the hell flies from L.A. to Chicago for their goddamn gossip column? Oh, that’s right, fucking Bela Talbot. Queen Bee of the Gossips and why won’t you just leave my charming boys alone?_ Meg is seething as she watches Bela Talbot slink around the hospital’s foyer. Obviously looking for signs that Animus are in the building as she saunters around in a teal pants suit. Standing on a balcony that on the next floor that overlooks the entrance, Meg keeps herself out of Bela’s view—should she look up—by sheltering beside a pillar.

Michael had given Balthazar a heads up that Bela was on her way from L.A. and Balthazar had asked a few contacts to help keep him updated on the “journalist’s” movements. They’d had a thirty minute warning that she was on her way here. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sam had been released from the hospital’s care, but it’s early in the morning and the doctor’s haven’t started their rounds yet. Still, it had been almost a day since Sam had been admitted and even Meg could see the improvement. Sam’s bruised ribs were causing him more discomfort than his head.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Meg glances over her shoulder and sees Rudy. Nodding, she turns back to Bela who is now trying to casually talk to some orderly down in the foyer.

“This the journo we need to keep away from the boys?” Rudy asks in a low voice, standing to the side of Meg.

“Yep. Bela Talbot. She is a pain in everyone’s ass. Benny has dealt with her a few times before, but she knows him. So we’re gonna be running interference.” Meg frowns as she watches the woman switch to talking to another orderly. “She doesn’t know you and she hardly knows me. Bar committing a felony, anything we can do to keep her away long enough for Sam to be assessed and released from the hospital’s care: we do it.”

“No felonies. Got it.” Rudy shifts on his feet and leans in a little closer to Meg. “Garth’s arranged some transport already, it’s waiting for the all clear. You sure Sam’s gonna be released today?”

“That little ray of sunshine is as back to normal as he’s gonna be right now.”

Bela stamps her foot in frustration and heads over to a pillar on the first floor and calls someone on her cell.

“Wonder who she’s calling,” says Rudy.

“Could be the asshole who gave her the tip. Could be her boss.” _And if it’s the asshole, I wouldn’t mind knowing who it is_.

“Who’s her boss?”

“Marv Stevens. He’s her editor.” Flinging out and arm, Meg pulls Rudy and herself tight against the pillar as Meg moves across a spot where she might have been able to see them. Peeking back around, Meg sees Bela talking to a male nurse. “Rudy, I want you to get on the elevator with her on the first floor. Just follow my lead when I get on from this floor. Keep your cell on vibrate. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Head down to the foyer now, she’s probably gonna get on an elevator soon. Take the stairs.”

Rudy doesn’t say anything else he just leaves and gets on with it. The poor guy may have had one of his charges kidnapped during his first night on the job, but Meg could tell the man had experience and that he understands what discretion is. And boy do they need discretion, because if Bela Talbot learns that not only is Sam in hospital, but in hospital with a police and FBI presence, and has both his dads there too: Bela Talbot would not let any of this go.

Walking over to the elevators near her, Meg pulls her long brown hair into a loose bun and then takes a pair of glasses from the pocket of her leather jacket. Putting the glasses on, Meg’s pretty confident she looks very different from what she did when she was in L.A. and at Michael’s party for the album launch.

One elevator starts coming up from the first floor, apparently heading for the sixth, and Meg presses the button to get it to stop on the second. Sam is under observation on the seventh floor. The elevator reaches Meg and its doors slide open to reveal Bela inside as well as Rudy. Stepping into the elevator, Meg goes to press the button for the sixth floor and acts pleasantly surprised when she finds that it’s already been pressed.

Meg has a sort of plan forming in her head. She decides that improv is the order of the day. “Oh man, don’t you just hate it when you forget what you went out for?” Meg simpers, turning a smile on Bela.

“Can’t say that I do,” Bela replies back coldly.

“That must be nice… but I forgot the coffee orders for my bosses and my cell’s dead. I was gonna get some from the coffee stand here in the hospital… I really don’t wanna lose this internship. It’s like a dream come true. But those _three_ are so picky about their coffee!”

Meg can feel Bela tense beside her. Hear her heels click against the elevator floor as she steps a tiny bit closer to Meg. “Who are you interning for?” Bela casually asks.

“Oh, um, for a rock band. Kinda a dream come true. You may have heard of them. They’re called Animus,” Meg answers, voice filled with an innocence that anyone who knows her knows is not real. Catching Rudy cocking an eyebrow at her in the reflections of the elevator’s interior, Meg tries not to smirk at her own act.

“Wow. That sounds amazing,” Bela simpers in her posh, British accent. “Say… do you think they’d mind if I stopped by and got their autographs?”

 _There’s a sucker born every minute…_ “I’m sure they won’t mind. They’re all so nice and charming. They’d be down for it, for a classy lady like you.” And if Meg’s voice sounds sickeningly sweet and filled with false admiration—Bela doesn’t seem to notice.

“Say, I heard that there was some special patient on the seventh floor. Is that them? Do you wanna press the button?” Bela asks.

 _So she was gonna walk up from the sixth floor, because the elevators are being watched._ “No need,” Meg beams at Bela, “we were just telling everyone that and making it look like that so the guys aren’t bothered. They’re really on the sixth.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, I can see why they would do that.” Bela nods, as if she’s just been given the most sage advice in the world.

No one else calls the elevator as they head up. Reaching the sixth floor, Meg leads the way and Rudy slips out so that he can follow them at a discrete distance. Having checked out the hospital in preparation for scenarios like this, Meg knows that the floor is being partially renovated and that there’s a closet coming up. A very convenient cleaning closet that no one’s likely to check out for a few hours. Regardless of the noise.

“It’s been so cool working for them,” Meg starts up, “but I just can’t seem to remember how they like their coffee.”

“You’ll get there,” Bela replies distractedly.

“Thanks. Well they’re right through here,” Meg announces as they reach the closet and she opens the door. Obscuring the sign on the door, Meg waits as Bela steps into the space. The moment of confusion is clear when Bela’s brain catches up with the fact that she’s been had.

“Wait a—” Bela starts, but doesn’t get to finish, because Meg’s shoving her into the closet and slamming the door shut behind her. Rudy rushes up with a hammer from one of the work areas where renovations have been taking place and bashes off the door handle, wrecking the door’s lock mechanism.

The only way that door will open now is if someone inside has the tools to take the hinges off… or has an axe. Bela’s muffled behind the door as she bangs and shouts. Meg leaves the closet with Rudy, walking like nothing’s happened.

“Remind me,” Rudy finally speaks as they reach the elevators again, “to never get on your bad side.”

“Don’t worry, someone will find her eventually… or Balthazar will let someone know that Bela’s in there.” Meg calls the elevator.

“What if she’s in there for ages? What if she needs to take a leak?” Rudy pushes.

Meg shakes her head. “Seriously, don’t go feeling sorry for that harpy. She’s wrecked enough lives with her words, believe me. Plus, I’m pretty sure I saw some buckets in there and toilet paper.”

“Ohhhhh…”

“Exactly. Now, let’s see if we can actually leave.”

***

A frightened whimper works its way out of Sam and in a flash Dean’s up from his chair beside Sam’s bed. Reaching a gentle hand out towards Sam, ignoring the paleness of his brother’s skin and his messed up lip, Dean gently strokes Sam’s forehead. Cas is napping in another chair on the other side of the bed. Bobby and John are somewhere getting a late breakfast for all of them.

“Hey, it’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers and gently presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead.

It had been almost a day since Sam had been admitted. Dean was no medical expert, but he was pretty sure Sam’s concussion hadn’t worsened. He hoped Sam would be discharged after the morning rounds reached him.

“Want you, Dean,” Sam whispers in the room’s lowered lights, eyes now open as he looks up at Dean.

“We can’t really do anything, we’re in a hospital,” Dean points out, waving a hand at the room.

“If I… If I squish up a little in the bed, then maybe you could climb in with me… and… Dean, I just want to be held. Please,” Sam begs, voice breaking a little with emotion.

And there is no way Dean can say no to that. “Okay, sure.”

The grateful smile that Sam bestows Dean makes him feel like he’s not worthy of such love. _I let you down. I didn’t protect you_ , Dean thinks bitterly as Sam makes room for him so he can lay out on the left side of the bed. Careful of the wires attached to Sam, Dean wraps his arms around his little brother and holds him against his chest. _I don’t deserve you…_

“Stop thinking like that,” Sam mutters from somewhere just below Dean’s neck. Knees bent towards Dean, Sam’s curled up as much as he can.

“How can you always tell when I’m—”

“Just can,” Sam murmurs, sounding a little sleepy again. He kisses Dean’s chest and rubs his face up against Dean like he’s some overgrown puppy seeking affection and reassurance.

Dean’s thoughts are the same as he had last summer, when Sam had done what he’d done at Bobby’s. And Dean forces himself to not think about all the times he’s almost lost Sam. He can’t think about those things now. Tightening his arms around Sam, Dean ignores the overlaying smells that are trying to mask Sam. Mask _his_ Sam. There’s still that hint of tangy apple and Dean focuses on that.

Sam relaxes in Dean’s arms and they’re like that for awhile, just holding each other, the hustle and bustle of the surrounding hospital seeming a million miles away. His huge brother seems so small in his hospital gown. Then, without warning, Sam pulls his head up and presses a kiss against Dean’s lips. It’s instinct that makes Dean respond, body eager to fall into their usual habits, unaware of their surroundings.

Kissing back, tongue swiping over Sam’s, Dean doesn’t do anything to stop Sam curling a hand around his ass and pulling them closer together. Doesn’t do anything to discourage Sam from sliding up so that they’re soon gently rubbing against each other, desperate to reassure the other that they’re not going anywhere. That they still have each other as their hard-ons rub against each other through clothes and sheets.

A groan from beside the bed finally reminds Dean and Sam that Castiel is beside them. “We are in a hospital,” states Cas as he stands up beside the bed and meets Dean’s eyes. There isn’t a disapproving glare from their lover, just a touch of bemusement and a lot of heat.

“Sorry,” Dean says, but doesn’t pull away from Sam.

“The fact that you two sound and look so delicious together is of course hurting my resolve to make the two of you part. My main regret is that bed isn’t really big enough for three.” Cas grins wolfishly at them and Dean feels a flutter in his stomach that makes him want to have Cas on the opposite side of Sam. Have them together so that they can both show Sam that he’s safe now.

Dean licks his lips and notes Sam tracking the movement. He ducks down and seizes Sam’s lips with his own and hums when he hears Cas moan beside them.

“Both look so good together,” Cas moans, voice getting a little distant as Dean and Sam kiss. There’s a clicking sound and Dean knows Cas just locked the door. The situation is escalating and while the rational side of Dean’s mind knows they should wait until they’re back at the hotel: he _needs Sam now_.

Pulling off of Sam’s mouth for a second, Dean asks, “What do you want, Sammy?”

Eyes going big, Sam ducks his head down and whispers something that Dean doesn’t catch.

“Come on, Sam, tell us what you want,” Cas orders.

Sam looks back up and glances between Dean and Cas. “It’s too painful for what I want. Wanna be filled up… by both of you. Taste and feel you.”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Dean nods, knowing they can’t do that. Regardless of whether they’re in a hospital, because—

“That would be too much for your ribs right now,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Sam says, regret clear in his voice.

Cas licks his lips and then his eyes start to shine, as if an idea has hit him. “How about this: I blow you while Dean makes out with you? When you feel better, we’ll do the other thing.”

Nodding keenly in agreement, Sam looks to Dean as if for approval.

“If that’s what you want, Sammy?”

Another nod. And that seems to be all Castiel needs as he helps Dean and Sam out of the hospital bed, monitoring wires still attached, lining Sam up so he can hold onto the bed’s sides. His cock is visibly tenting his gown. A wash cloth appears from somewhere and Dean gently kisses Sam as Castiel cleans Sam’s hard cock, making him whimper into Dean’s mouth.

At no point does the plan say anything about Cas or Dean getting off, but Dean understands. This is for Sam. Castiel kneels in front of Sam and lifts up his hospital gown before disappearing underneath it. Dean’s on Sam’s lips in an instant, there to catch the first moan as Castiel’s mouth begins to work his brother’s cock.

Normally they would take their time, but they don’t know when someone else might try to get into the room. A doctor or a nurse could be by at any moment. So Dean’s tongue works Sam’s mouth as Castiel’s works Sam’s cock, both determined to get Sam off. If the way Sam’s body is shuddering; alongside the cries he’s making into Dean’s mouth, and the wet sounds from below them are anything to go by: Castiel is making sure that Sam won’t last long.

Dean helps support Sam as his brother starts to rock his hips towards Castiel’s face. Achingly hard inside his own jeans, Dean manages to find a little friction against Sam’s thigh and he rocks against Sam as his tongue fucks Sam’s mouth. There’s a sound of a zipper being pulled down and then a new wet sound as Castiel starts to stroke himself. So maybe they’d all get to come after all.

Sam is whimpering and moaning, hips jaggedly flailing as he starts to lose himself under Dean and Castiel’s ministrations. Making Dean whimper a little back as his cock moves slickly inside his boxers, slicked with pre-come. Seeing one of the monitors out of the corner of his eye, Dean notes how the heart rate being listed is pretty damn high right now. And then Sam’s tensing under them in that familiar away and Dean feels a pull inside himself—the familiar crescendo of pleasure seems to hit the three of them all at the same time as Sam shouts into Dean’s mouth as Dean cries back. There’s a muffled shout from Castiel as he too comes.

Dean’s there the instant Sam goes boneless and despite his own post-orgasmic bliss, he helps his brother back into his bed before he can fall down. Another washcloth appears and Castiel works to get the three of them cleaned up before unlocking the room’s door again.

Sitting back down in the chair beside Sam’s bed, Dean looks over to Sam and Cas. There’s a content look on both their faces and for a second Dean forgets even why they’re in the hospital in the first place.

Someone knocks on the door. “It’s Agent Henriksen, could I have a word?” Asks Henriksen’s on the other side of the door.

Sam shifts nervously. “Uh, sure.”

The door opens and Henriksen steps in. “Gentlemen, I need to take Sam’s statement, could you,” Henriksen scrunches his nose up for a second and frowns, “wait outside?”

“We’ll see where Bobby’s got to with breakfast,” Dean says, suddenly feeling a little uneasy as he gets up and leaves with Cas.

***

The interview’s been taking longer than anyone anticipated. Sam’s doctor has been by three times to check on him and see about getting Sam discharged. But they can’t interrupt the statement process. Cas is sat on a chair in a waiting area that’s in sight of Sam’s door and he wishes he could put an arm around Dean. But they’re exposed and John’s there. Bobby occupies a seat that feels like an informal border between Dean, Castiel and John.

Tapping Dean on the shoulder, signalling he needs to stretch his legs, Cas gets up and walks towards Sam’s room. Stretching as he walks, Cas gets within six feet of the door and can hear slightly raised voices from the other side.

“I don’t know what he’s planning,” says Sam. _So they’ve moved past giving his statement, then_. “I really don’t remember if he said anything.”

“But he wanted you.”

“Because he wanted to create some Manson family bullshit. I dunno. Look, isn’t it your job to figure out the weird motivations of sickos like this? I was six months old when he killed my mom. I’d never knowingly met the asshole until he abducted me.”

“You’re right… I’m sorry. Look, we’ll make sure you have extra security back at your hotel.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, well everyone’s probably wondering what’s taking so long. We’ll probably speak again… but Sam, if you think Azazel or anyone who has something to do with him is near you, Dean or even Cas: call the police and then call me. Understand?”

“Sure.”

The conversation seems to end then and Castiel quickly moves away so it doesn’t look like he was snooping. Heading back to Dean, Cas sits down and waits, staring at his hands. _Azazel… that’s his name_ , Castiel ponders, still wanting to find him and make him pay. He understood Sam’s reference to the Manson family, but Cas isn’t scared. He knows only anger each second he spends thinking about the man, the monster.

“Earth to Cas,” Dean calls and pulls Castiel from his thoughts.

Blinking, Cas looks up at Dean and smiles. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, man. Just, Sam’s being let out, so let’s help him out and blow this joint.” Dean throws John a look, but doesn’t say anything to him.

Flipping his own gaze to John, Cas refrains from saying what’s on his mind. Because what he really wants to ask is why is John still there? Why does he think anyone wants him there? Does he really think he’s helping his sons?

Agent Henriksen walks over to the waiting room, smiles curtly at Dean and Cas, then turns his attention to John. “John, I need you to come down with me to the field office. Answer some questions. You don’t have to, but—”

“Sure, thing. Anything to stop this bastard,” John trips out.

“We can go down there now,” Henriksen suggests.

“Okay. Lead the way.” And suddenly it’s as if John couldn’t get away from them fast enough, which is fine with Castiel. John gets up and without a backwards glance follows Henriksen out of the waiting room. John doesn’t even look at the door to Sam’s room as he leaves. _It’s like John was only ever here, because he would be able to get closer to getting revenge for Mary’s death_ , Cas concludes to himself.

Bobby gets up from his seat and pulls out a duffel bag. “Here, Meg grabbed these from the hotel for Sam. I’ll wait out here for you.”

“‘Course. C’mon Cas, let’s help Sam,” says Dean as he pulls Cas back towards Sam’s room.

Helping Sam get dressed is easy now that he’s off all of the monitoring equipment. Once he’s dressed, Balthazar, Benny, Meg and Rudy form an escort along with Bobby and a couple of police officers and they make their way through the hospital to its parking where a limo waits for them.

In a way, Cas would rather leave Chicago sooner than stay. The events of the past forty eight hours will taint any further time in the city—that much is obvious. But… the longer they stay, the more chance Cas has of learning something more about the monster who took Sam. Thoughts pulling and tugging together, Cas doesn’t pay attention to anyone or anything as they return to the hotel.

Heading back into their room, Cas goes and sits on the couch, hands tensing in his lap. Dean and Sam seem to understand something’s off and they keep their distance as they talk with Balthazar, Bobby and Meg. It’s almost convenient that the abduction happened during the brief lull in their tour schedule and Cas suspects this is no coincidence. Cancelled concerts would have drawn public attention to Sam’s disappearance.

 _Would have put more people on alert… But it didn’t matter in the end. Azazel underestimated Sam’s strength_ , and with that Cas gets up from the couch and walks over to Sam.

“Hey, Cas we were just—” Sam starts, but is cut off when Cas suddenly wraps his arms around the taller man and hugs him gently.

“You’re safe,” Cas states and then lets go of Sam. “Maybe we should just get back on the road.”

Sam smiles at Cas. “Well, if you hadn’t been so busy brooding, you would have heard us talking about just that… and how Meg and Rudy locked Bela Talbot in a closet.”

“So we’re leaving… wait, what?”

Winking at Cas, Meg says, “She shouldn’t have tried messing with my boys.”

“But yeah,” Sam picks up, “we’re thinking we should just move on to Kansas City.”

Processing this all, Cas nods. “That would seem wise at this point.”

“You’re gonna be more careful, right?” Bobby asks.

And the conversation turns to travel plans and Bobby demanding they call him every day. Cas only half listens as he thinks about how he might find Azazel once they’ve left Chicago.

Bitterly, Cas realizes that Azazel will probably find them first. _I’ll just have to be ready, then_ , Cas decides.

***

Sam’s curled up on his bunk, the rumble of the tour bus soothing. Somewhere, Dean and Cas are talking with Balthazar, Meg, Benny and Rudy. It’s the middle of the afternoon and they’re on the way to Kansas City.

His body and mind are tired, and he’s hoping that sleep will find him soon. Part of him wants to get back to the music and get back to normal. Another part of him just wishes they’d gone with Bobby, home to Sioux Falls.

But as he falls asleep, Sam doesn’t get what he wants in the dream that chases him down.

It’s the apartment complex again. But now its actual rotting shell is mishmashed with the nightmare fuel of whatever hallucinogenic he had forced into him. The table in front of Sam is old. A blue teapot squats on it. Yellow eyes stare down at him as Azazel’s voice proclaims:

“We are family.”

And Sam remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind how much time I spent on Meg and Rudy doing their thing in this chapter, and that Sam ended up with a short bit... but he's gonna end up with more next chapter, obviously.


	14. The Hunt Begins

Bloodshot brown eyes look past Victor Henriksen. He’s sat opposite John Winchester in an interview room in the FBI’s Chicago field office. The table’s scarred and pitted. Could probably do with replacing, what with its less than secure cuffs hold, but it’s not like John’s a wanted felon who’s being interviewed before being taken to a more secure location. Henriksen’s notebook is out in front of him, pen poised, ready to write down anything pertinent and John Winchester is a free man.

But there was a time that Victor’s predecessor believed that John Winchester was good for the trail of bodies that had been left from one coast to another. The fire ravaged homes and broken families. It had taken Victor going back over a decade and a half of evidence to prove that John Winchester—while a lot of things, including obsessed and an alcoholic—was not the unknown subject of their investigation. He’d done that without ever calling John in. He’d just looked at the evidence. And it was clear.

Now the charming sociopath, who they now have near confirmed has a cult? He’s good for it. The brief descriptions of the people that Sam had seen while captive reflected those of people who had been seen in the mysterious man’s company. _Such a shame we’ve never caught him clearly on camera. Bastard managed to even hide his face when he grabbed Sam._

The biggest boon they’d gained from talking with Sam was a name. A name that they had never had before, but bringing that name into the investigation had been like filling in the center pieces of a jigsaw puzzle—everything is starting to fall into place. All he now needs from John are a few more details and Henriksen knows that they’ll be able to track this bastard down.

_Azazel_. Henriksen has his partner already working on the name.

He feels it in his gut, that something huge is going to happen. That everything is coming to a head. You don’t end up working in the Bureau as long as Henriksen without being able to tell when things are starting to coalesce.

A flash of his time at the hospital, talking to Sam, comes back to Henriksen and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. Remembers the odor of the room when he’d stepped in to interview Sam. Someone was with someone in that band, Henriksen had definitely got that impression, but who was with Castiel he couldn’t quite tell. Shaking his head, Henriksen ignores the unhelpful train of thought and put his mind back on the actual case at hand.

“I need you to think back, John. Do you think Mary knew the man that started _the_ fire?”

Nodding slowly, John wiped his palms on his thighs. “Before we married, she was absent from her parent’s for a week, in ‘73. Understand that I didn’t know about this until I kicked the booze and started looking into what the hell happened.

“I was involved in a pretty big restoration project at the shop, so I never thought much of her taking some time out during that week.”

“Did you find out where she went?”

“A farm, about thirty miles out of Lawrence. She’d said she was staying with friends.” John gives Henriksen a tired look.

“Lemme guess, she didn’t stay with friends?”

“There were a couple of friends there, but she was staying with someone else. Some kind of cult. I found a few things at the farm, went back there a month or so ago. Called themselves the Rebirth.”

“What, just the “Rebirth”?”

John nods. “The Rebirth.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Henriksen stares long and hard at John. “Anything else?” Victor scribbles down the name.

“That’s just what I was able to translate.”

“Wait, it wasn’t in English?”

Giving Henriksen a solemn look, John nods. “Someone or something would be born and they would walk among us. It was written on some of the walls. The words are written in something called Enochian.”

John digs out his cell from his pocket and looks through photos on it for a moment until he finds what he must be looking for. “See this,” John hands the cell to Henriksen, “on the walls here? I couldn’t get a clear shot, but it’s easier to read the walls in person.”

Unfamiliar symbols are carved into the plaster of a wall, but they are hard to read. The way the fires and deaths had happened across the country had always suggested that there was more than one unknown subject (or “unsub”) and a cult is a logical explanation. _Sam was right with that Manson family reference. And some weird language would be more a cult thing._

“You got an address for this farm?” Henriksen waits, pen ready to write it down.

“Won’t do you any good, place doesn’t exist, as far as I can tell. Grab me a map and I’ll show you where it should be.”

Nodding, Henriksen gets up from his seat and opens the door to the interview room. A male agent is walking down the hallway outside, dark suit freshly pressed, short, light brown hair smoothed just so. “Hey, Agent…” Henriksen begins.

The agent stops a few feet from Henriksen and sets his crisp blue eyes on Henriksen. “Agent Hansom. What do you need, Agent Henriksen?” The agent responds helpfully.

“Would you please get me a map of Lawrence, Kansas and the surrounding area, up to a 100 miles radius?”

“Sure thing. Say, do you guys want any coffee?”

Henriksen is a little surprised by the offer, but pokes his head back in the interview room. “Coffee?”

“Uh sure. Black’d be great.”

Relaying their orders, Henriksen says thanks to Agent Hansom and watches him walk off. Ten minutes later, Henriksen and John are looking over a map, coffee at their elbows. There’s a toxicology report at Henriksen’s elbow, noting Sam had been drugged with a variant of peyote, but that’s nowhere as fascinating to Henriksen as listening to John Winchester talk about the farm. The farm is difficult to find and when John points to where it is the map says there shouldn’t be anything there but meadows and forest. But John’s adamant that there’s a farm there and that he’s been to it.

Getting the help of an analyst over the phone, they’re able to check down land records. But again there’s nothing to suggest any actual property there. “There’s just nothing there according to public record,” Henriksen explains several hours later and four coffees in. Another analyst looking into Enochian for them while they study the map.

John looks a little agitated and Henriksen hopes he doesn’t believe that he’s calling him a liar. It’s not like he can get a satellite pointed at the place on a rumor, but maybe he could get sign off on flying out there and taking a look with his partner and Winchester senior. Phoning in with his superiors, Henriksen gets sign off to head on over with John in tow.

A few hours later, they’re on a flight to Kansas City, the field office there awaiting their arrival, and Henriksen wonders if it would be worth checking in with Animus while they’re there. John Winchester is quiet, a pensive expression on his face and Henriksen wonders what’s going through the man’s mind. Henriksen’s partner, Agent Thomas Abner, is napping beside him, having hardly slept since Sam’s abduction and retrieval.

They could be chasing ghosts and Henriksen is hopeful that his practiced eyes are going to find something at this non-existent location. A detail that could give them more than just names and conjecture. _The way John talked, it was like the place hadn’t been used since that point 33 years ago. But maybe there’s something more recent there?_

It’s a short flight and Henriksen doesn’t really want to nap, but he hasn’t slept much either and chasing ideas around and around in his head isn’t making him feel any less tired. But he’s worried about taking his eyes off of John Winchester. He doesn’t believe the man will do anything, but he doesn’t exactly make you feel like you should put yourself in a vulnerable position around him. Winchester senior is sharp, at least now. There’s an awareness in his eyes that reminds Henriksen of battle hardened veterans who never step out of that mindset of constant vigilance, muscles always tense and ready—but there’s more to it. Henriksen is aware that John served, but there’s an edge to the man that’s more than just that.

The look is tainted with personal loss and a need for revenge, and while Henriksen has been trying to ignore the fact that there will come a point where he’ll need to keep John out of the loop—that point will come. He can’t allow John Winchester to take the revenge that his whole being clearly calls out for and demands. Azazel needs to be brought to justice.

Still, if John Winchester somehow gets too close to the case after they leave him to his own devices. If something unfortunate were to happen to the unsub—Henriksen’s not sure he would do anything to stop it from happening. Azazel and his friends have left a lot of destruction in their collective wake.

***

A quiet whimper wakes Dean. _Sam?_ Dean climbs out of his bunk, pulling on some sweats and pokes his head in the gap by the middle bunk—the change due to his injuries—where Sam’s meant to be asleep. Eyes quickly adjusting to the low lights they have on at night, Dean finds Sam is still sleeping, but is clearly having some kind of nightmare, his face is all scrunched up and there’s a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, touching Sam’s shoulder, “you’re having a nightmare.”

His brother twists about, the dream apparently intensifying. Castiel stirs in his bunk and his head suddenly appears below Dean and Sam. “What’s wrong?” Cas asks Dean.

“Sam’s having a nightmare. Trying to wake him up.”

Flashing Dean a concerned look, Dean steps out of the way so that Castiel can climb out of his bunk and help. Joining his hand with Dean’s on Sam’s shoulder, Castiel says gently, “Sam, you are having a nightmare. Please wake up.”

That only gets them a whimper from Sam. Dean tries rubbing Sam’s side as Cas strokes his face, both begging Sam in gentle, but firm voices, for Sam to wake up. _C’mon, Sammy, please wake up_. One particularly large jolt runs through Sam.

“Sam, wake up!” Dean growls.

Confused eyes blink open, gleaming as they look between Dean and Cas. It takes Sam a moment to recognize both of them and he frowns as he says, “Deanie… Cas?” in the most lost of voices.

Dean’s reminded of a ten year old Sammy who’s still worried their dad’s doing to come back and ruin their lives again. _He hasn’t called me that in years_ , Dean muses, reaching a hand out to Sam’s face and stroking his cheek. “Yeah, it’s Deanie and Cas. You were having a nightmare.”

Sam nods, gives Dean and Cas a lost puppy look, eyes wide and anxious. “Yeah it… I was… It was back in that _place_ and… Azazel he said that that “we are family”, but I don’t know what he meant.”

“I’ll make us some tea, Cas can you help Sam down from the bunk?” Dean looks between his lovers.

Their angel nods and Dean heads further down the tour bus, through several curtains. A sleepy looking Meg, hair just that bit more tousled than usual, looks up from a couch and yawns. There’s a big red blanket around her, giving her the look of a human burrito.

“It’s not…” Meg yawns again, “... morning, is it?”

“No.” Dean reaches the nearby kitchenette and starts sorting out some chamomile tea for Sam. If it was himself having craptastic nightmares, he’d be reaching for the whiskey he has stashed in his locker, but it’s Sam and Dean’s not so sure it’s a good idea to give Sam something that could mess with his perception. Certainly not if he remembers something more about Azazel.

Focusing on making the tea, Dean jumps when Meg appears behind him. Meg chuckles. “Geez, Dean, why so jumpy?”

Pouring the water from a kettle into three mugs, enveloping chamomile tea bags in steaming water, Dean tries to act like she didn’t surprise him. “It’s nothing. Just go back to sleep, Meg.”

There’s a shuffling sound behind Dean and the couch creaks a little. “Just make sure he’s alright,” says Meg in a concerned voice.

“When do I not?” Dean replies, steaming mugs on a tray. He gives Meg a wink and heads back to the band’s more private area and their couch.

On the couch, Cas has his arms wrapped around Sam as they cuddle under a blue blanket. Dean puts the tea down on a nearby table and joins them, hugging Sam from his right while Cas hugs him from the left. Lightly stroking Sam’s hair, Dean works with Cas to calm his brother down. He’s not going to make Sam talk, but if he says anything—Dean will listen.

The three of them remain huddled up on the couch until the tea cools enough to be drinkable. Holding the warm mugs in their hands, Dean sips his even tea though its sweet and flowery taste is not quite his thing. If not booze then he’d rather have a cup of coffee, but then he wouldn’t get any more sleep.

“Azazel wanted me to join him… in doing something… something horrible. But I can’t remember what,” Sam whispers and then takes a sip of tea.

Putting his own, now empty mug down, Dean sits back and rubs between Sam’s shoulder blades. “You’re not with him anymore. So you won’t do anything. You’re fine, Sammy. You’re with us.”

“You’re right.” Sam takes another sip of his tea and then puts the mug down. The nervous energy from the nightmare still thrums through Sam—Dean can feel small tremors working their way through his brother.

“Of course Dean is right,” Castiel reaffirms. “And you’ll be hard pressed to lose either of us now. Even in the john.”

Holding Sam close again, Dean kisses Sam’s cheek and then moves to his mouth. His brother welcomes the attention and pushes against Dean’s lips. On the opposite side of the couch, Castiel kisses at Sam’s neck and the two of them work at making Sam feel good. Even with those few kisses, Dean can sense some of the tension leaving Sam.

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Castiel growls. “We’ll have plenty of time once we reach Kansas City.”

Both Dean and Sam give Cas pleading looks, but their drummer is having none of it. Dean’s pretty sure that Sam gives Cas the full on puppy eyes, but years of spending time with Sam means that Cas is pretty immune to them by now.

Getting the two of them to stand from the couch, Cas ushers everyone back to their bunks, pointing out that Sam needs his sleep so that he can heal. Dean helps his brother into the middle bunk and Cas gets up onto the top one, no problem. Settling down onto the bottom bunk, Dean hopes that nothing more is going to happen.

Though if even the slightest thing goes wrong in Kansas City, then Dean’s determined to call off the tour and head back back to South Dakota and Bobby’s. _I can’t care about the tunes when Sam’s like this._

***

Rudy swings open the door to their new room and Sam feels no relief to be finally off the tour bus. The rolling of the bus’s wheels are almost a lullaby in comparison to the distant hubhub of the streets below their five-star hotel and the noises from the hotel’s staff and guests. Anxiety curls up inside Sam, making him tense and his bruised body ache even more.

A hand gently settles on the middle of Sam’s back and he allows himself to be eased into the minimalistically decorated room. Despite trying to sleep some more on the tour bus, he feels tired, his rest too frequently punctuated by Azazel, and his brain desperately trying to recall what it was that the suspected murderer had said to him in that ruined apartment building.

Pushed down onto a brown leather couch, Sam looks up and sees Dean and Cas both staring down at him, concerned frowns directed his way.

“We’re gonna order room service,” Castiel begins, “anything you want?”

It’s been hours since Sam last ate, but he really doesn’t feel that hungry. “Not really.”

Knowing looks pass between Dean and Cas, but they don’t say anything else, heading on over to the room’s phone so that they make their orders. Sam stays on the couch and stares at his hands, unsure of pretty much everything. He’d been pretty damn happy on the night of their album launch, but the whole tour has now been soured, as far as Sam’s concerned.

There’d been a moment, before Bobby left for South Dakota, where Sam had wanted to ask if he could go with him and head back to the blue house. Go home and curl up in the bed in his room. Maybe not come out again for a few months, because while Sam still feels the physical pain of what happened to him back in Chicago, the noose around his heart is far worse. Leaving his muscles tense and his eyes wary.

Sam’s certain no one is going to get the jump on him like that again, but there’s this hole in his memories—wide and deep—and he’s worried by what might be at the bottom of it. Looking down into the yawning chasm, there’s two glowing yellow dots and the stench of blood. Whatever is at the bottom of the hole is more than the words “we are family”— _whatever that means_ , Sam thinks glumly, eyes still fixed on his hands.

Dark denim comes into view and Sam looks up to find Cas standing in front of him. Cas’s head is tilted to the side, a questioning look on his face. “Sam?”

Giving Cas a weak smile, Sam stands up and finds it difficult to meet his lover’s eyes. Behind him, he can hear Dean moving around. Castiel slips closer into Sam’s personal space and steals a kiss that Sam quickly deepens, tongue easily sliding past Castiel’s lips. This press of mouths, warm and filled with desire, distracts Sam from his thoughts, leaving him with an ache that he knows Castiel and Dean can make go away.

“Cas,” Sam whispers by the drummer’s lips, “need you. Need Dean.”

“Sam, you’re still injured,” Cas replies kissing him on the side of the mouth. “But…” At the word “but”, a shiver runs down Sam’s spine. There’s a quality to the way Castiel said it that Sam knows to mean Cas has a plan forming.

“But if your brother was to hold you… Yes, yes I think that will work. Now, let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Gulping a little in anticipation, skin practically thrumming as Castiel begins to strip him of his shirts, Sam squeaks out, “But what about room service?”

“What’s your color, Sam?”

“Green,” Sam says, breath suddenly hard to come by. Castiel gives Sam a devious smile and bends down to take Sam’s shoes off. Soon he’s undressed and Dean’s by the couch, equally naked, aircon skirting along their skin. The only one of them with any clothes still on is Cas.

“Now, if the two of you would just move here…” Castiel brushes his hands over Sam and Dean, herding them towards the nearest wall. “Dean if you would stand against the wall and hold Sam against your chest… Yes with Sam’s ass facing away from you.”

Dean’s capable hands help turn Sam as he pulls him against his chest, making Sam let out a long breath as Dean embraces him just right, not making his injuries hurt. The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck are standing up and Sam can guess what’s about to happen, the suspicion making his dick start to harden as he slots a leg between Dean’s thighs.

“Gonna take good care of you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, voice low and husky. Sam can feel Dean starting to get hard against him and they haven’t really started yet. Their musk thick in the air.

“Dean you may kiss Sam, but make sure he doesn’t move too much.” Castiel is stood behind Sam, just to his right. Before Sam can say anything, Dean covers Sam’s mouth with his own. The kiss is slow and sloppy, Dean’s tongue lazily seeking out Sam’s.

The kiss makes Sam’s skin tingle, makes him want to rub against Dean, but he stays still bar his mouth, wanting to show Cas he can be good. And then there’s a rush of air and Castiel’s strong hand slaps against Sam’s right cheek—pushing Sam into Dean—the sting snapping through Sam and making his breath catch in his chest. Dean’s arms and hands stop Sam from flailing, the hold sure and confident.

“Such a good boy,” Cas praises.

Castiel brings his hand down again, catching Sam right on the curve of his cheek, pain flaring from the impact and sweeping away his worries—at least for now. Again the drummer’s hand comes down, and Dean captures Sam’s moan in his mouth. There’s a wetness between them, making Dean and Sam’s lengths slide against each other as pre-come begins to slick them.

“Isn’t he just so beautiful and good, Dean?” Castiel asks.

Dean breaks his kiss with Sam and answers, “Mmm, definitely good and beautiful, Sammy… Behaving so well for us.” Sam’s offered no chance to reply, Dean’s lips quickly returning to his.

Shoes shuffle along the floor and Castiel changes sides, switching hands and striking Sam’s left ass cheek. The sting is freeing and grounding. Letting Sam know that he is loved and wanted, even after everything that’s happened. Again—Castiel’s hand sings against Sam’s flesh, making his body quiver, making Dean moan as another gentle rock of friction teases along them.

Pace picking up, Cas starts alternating cheeks, hand coming down sure and fast, snapping back just so before contact and letting Castiel’s fingers whip across Sam’s exposed cheeks. Blood rushing to the surface, the impacts sting now, making Sam’s toes curl as he deepens his kiss with Dean, hips sliding together. The tease of flesh on flesh and the burning torment of Castiel’s hand causing Sam’s balls to ache.

Breath hot and hungry huffs at Sam’s left ear. “I know you want to come Sam, go on, come for Dean and me. Come,” Castiel purrs, hand snapping down against Sam’s left cheek. Pain mixing with pleasure—the burn of Castiel’s strikes mingling with the friction of rubbing against Dean—Sam can only do as Castiel orders.

Vision whiting out, Sam cries into Dean’s mouth as he orgasms. Distantly, he hears a knock at their door, but Sam doesn’t understand what’s going on as Dean holds him closer and swallows his gasps and whimpers. Imprisoned by Dean’s arms and lips, Sam doesn’t hear Castiel negotiate to wheel their food in himself and handing over a tip.

Once the door is closed again, it’s just Dean holding Sam up now, his own legs turned to jelly. Dean and Castiel work to wrap Sam in a blanket and help him sit on the couch. Drifting back from his orgasm, Sam finally notices all the food and soda on the coffee table by the couch.

“Hungry?” Dean asks, offering Sam a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

Sweet tooth winning over health food obsession, Sam grabs for the bowl and starts to spoon the rich desert into his mouth. Blissed out and feeling the most settled since his abduction, Sam almost misses Castiel opening Dean up beside him—his attention only drawn to the two of them as Castiel pulls his fingers from Dean’s hole with a wet sucking sound. Apparently Sam’s been too out of it, because Dean’s already settling into reverse cowgirl, Castiel’s jeans and boxers nowhere to be seen.

“Fuuuuuuuck, Cas,” Dean hisses, settling onto Castiel’s lap—sinking onto his cock—facing the coffee table.

Sam enjoys his front seat view as Castiel starts to fuck up into his brother.

***

Right now, Castiel wishes he was asleep in the hotel room’s massive bed, curled up with Dean and Sam. Instead he’s talking with Charlie. Fingers zipping across his laptop keyboard, Castiel tries not to yank the ethernet cable out of his laptop while he attempts to stop his balls from getting crushed. Over a secure connection, Charlie’s been talking to him for ten minutes about matters that a drummer in a popular band shouldn’t be worrying himself over.

But Charlie’s maintenance of the Animus website and MySpace page is only one of her jobs and Castiel is using this knowledge to his benefit. Typing out another reply, Castiel hopes that Charlie isn’t going to rat him out:

**SERAPH: You don’t have to hack the FBI, but I want to know who this Azazel really is.**

**QueenofMoons: Right, sure. Because I was really worried right then I was going to commit a bunch of felonies.**

**SERAPH: Just find him.**

**QueenofMoons: What are you going to do when I find him?**

**SERAPH: What won’t I do?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I'm still working on bang and challenge fics, but I'm hoping it'll be under a month before I update this one again. I know where this story is heading - I'd been unsure for a while, but it came to me whilst on my exercise bike last week. Apparently that's my place for fic ideas.


	15. Starlight Theatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got some canonical character death in this chapter.

Henriksen’s hire car rumbles along a dirt track leading away from the farm, slash cult compound, with Abner at the wheel and Henriksen reading through files beside him. John’s sat on the back seat. John can already tell that Henriksen is getting ready to dump him. He isn’t stupid, he knows having a civilian play tag along could compromise Henriksen’s investigation, but John wants to believe on the short drive from the farm that maybe he can still ride along. All John has wanted for twenty four years was for Mary’s killer to caught and they are so close.

Twisting in the seat of their hire car, John looks back over the forensics team that’s now working its way around the farm and documenting everything there as night falls. Even though the place is slowly mouldering away, there is plenty there to pick over, including some letters that mentioned Azazel by name, or that’s what one tech had managed to decode before Henriksen decided to head back to civilization.

“So you and your sons,” Henriksen starts conversationally.

John’s hands become fists in his lap and he tries to keep his voice level as he says, “What about me and my sons?”

“Must have been difficult to have another man raise them.”

 _Why the hell are we discussing this?_ “It was what was best for the boys. I see that now.”

Nodding at that, Henriksen goes back to the files he has with him. The drive continues in silence until Abner pulls the car up outside the concert venue. Animus would be performing at the Starlight Theatre in just over an hour.

“Y’know,” Henriksen begins as John gets ready to get out the car, “maybe you haven’t lost them.”

Holding back a bitter laugh, John shakes his head, keeping an eye on his surroundings, already looking for anything out of place that might signal that Azazel is there. Concert goers are already filtering towards the ticket gates to find their places. It’s still uncomfortably warm and John’s shirts are sticking to him, just like they were last summer when he saw his boys together.

“That ship has sailed. Believe me. All I can do now is make sure… you get Mary’s killer and that my boys are safe,” John answers carefully, trying to keep the illusion that he’ll let the FBI do its job.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Henriksen, with a genuine note of regret in his voice.

John doesn’t have anything else to say to that, so he grabs his things and gets out the car. He’s flying back in the morning, but he hopes his sons will let him see them before they perform. He’d texted Benny on the way to Kansas City and he gets out his cell now.

“Yeah, well see ya,” John announces. Henriksen and Abner seem to get the message and drive off. John finds Benny’s number and calls him.

“Hey, yeah, I’m here. Will they see me? If not, I’ll go find a motel.” John keeps watch on the people heading towards the gates.

“You got ten minutes,” drawls their bodyguard. “Meet me by the gates and I’ll take you to them.”

Benny hangs up before John can reply. Sighing, John walks closer to the gates and waits for the giant of a man to turn up, hoping today isn’t the day he gets payback for the baseball bat.

Nothing seems out of place, but a chill runs down John’s spine as he watches the crowds, the kind of chill you get when you’re not sure you’re being watched. John looks around, trying to stay calm, but he has a bad feeling all of a sudden that has him reaching for his cell again.

The message he sends to Henriksen is simple and completely paranoid:

**Something does not feel right here.**

John stows his cell when he sees Benny heading towards him. The bodyguard nods to him, demeanor calm and professional.

“Follow me,” Benny orders and the two of them head off for a secure entrance away from the gates.

The feeling that he’s being watched doesn’t leave John as they walk into the backstage area of the theatre. Part of him wants Azazel to show, so that he can finally take him apart piece by piece, but another part of him doesn’t want that monster near either of his boys. _But he wouldn’t show now, I mean… it’s too soon. Too dangerous. Right?_

Reaching the door to the boys’ changing room, John stays quiet as Benny knocks on the door. Getting back into their lives had never been the real end game for John and any fleeting dreams he’d had of that had ended the previous summer. But he just needs to check again that the boys are safe.

Dean is the one who opens the door and the stony look he gives John shows no sign of abating.

“Hi,” John says, voice a little tight.

“Whatever,” Dean replies, backing away and turning from his father. John watches his son head over to a bucket filled with beers on ice and grab a fresh bottle. “Just wanted to say bye before I head back on the road.”

“Didn’t exactly expect to see you here,” Dean murmurs and then twists the cap off his beer.

John steps into the changing room, Benny at his back. He looks over at Sam and Castiel, offering what he hopes is a warm smile. “I helped Henriksen make a breakthrough in the case. We’re gonna get him.”

There’s no mistaking the way Sam’s jaw tenses with this announcement, but John doesn’t try to insert himself in Sam’s space and offer reassurances. Glancing at Castiel, he’s not sure what the drummer is thinking with this announcement, the man’s face unreadable.

Despite the heat that still can’t be completely stifled by the room’s air con, John feels colder than he should. There’s no love towards him in the dressing room and even though the idea of the unnatural things his sons do with each other makes his skin crawl—John wishes there could be an inkling of a father-son bond between him and his sons.

“I’ll be seeing you then,” John says, turning for the door. The boys say nothing, so Benny escorts him straight away and soon enough John’s outside with the crowds, alone and back with the feeling that he’s being watched.

Opting not to find somewhere to check into before his morning flight, John heads for a small onsite eatery. There’s some concert goers in there, but he manages to find a table and get a cup of coffee. John prays that nothing is going to happen and that he’s just suffering with a plain old case of paranoia.

***

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, kneeling in front of Sam and putting his hands on his brother’s knees. Meg’s already come by and told them that they’ve got fifteen minutes until show time. Cas is in the can and it’s just the two of them in the changing room.

Looking up at his little brother, trying to ignore the way his tight black t-shirt fits just right against his arms and chest, Dean licks his lips and gives Sam a hopeful smile. He hadn’t expected John to come calling, even after Benny asked on his behalf if he could stop by. And Dean hadn’t expected John’s news, but Dean wasn’t in the mood to give their dad a free pass just because he’d helped the FBI.

Dean squeezes Sam’s knees and waits for his brother to talk.

“Never better,” Sam mutters and sighs. There’s no energy behind how he speaks and if the three of them are going to get through a concert being watched by 28,000 people then Dean needs to change things.

Shoving aside thoughts of their father, Dean gets up in Sam’s space and starts kissing him. Lips soft and teasing at first, Dean waits for Sam to give in and take this further. _One. Two. Three._ Sam grabs Dean by the front of his shirts and hefts his brother up onto his lap. Mashing their mouths together, Dean can’t help moaning as Sam holds him in place, tongue fucking into his mouth. He wanted Sam to feel something and he’s definitely feeling something now.

“Damnit… Dean…” Sam gasps as he tries to catch his breath. “We don’t have time for this.”

Grinding down on Sam’s lap, Dean smirks and nuzzles at the side of Sam’s face. “Oh, we have time, baby brother.”

“Fuck, Dean!” Sam curses and then pulls Dean back down into a kiss, hips rocking underneath him. The kiss is fiery and needy, making Dean feel faint and fantastic at the same time.

There’s a knock at the door and it starts to open, Castiel says something that Dean doesn’t quite hear, as he tries to scramble away from Sam, but finds himself held in place. Hands land on his shoulders and’s gently pulled away from Sam. Someone giggles behind them and the door to the changing room closes.

“You should have locked the door,” Cas berates the two of them, but then Sam’s on Dean again, pushing him up against a wall. All Dean can do is melt into the kisses and press into Sam’s grabbing hands.

“Oh for—” Cas pulls them apart again and places himself between them. “We’ve got to head on stage in five minutes!” Cas growls and starts straightening the two of them up.

The blush rising to Sam’s cheeks tells Dean that he’s achieved what he wanted to do. There’s an energy behind his gaze now that wasn’t there a few minutes ago and Dean’s confident that Sam will be able to head on stage and give their fans what they deserve.

Despite his insistence on making sure their clothes and hair are in place, Cas still manages to kiss both of them before handing them their ear pieces. Castiel continues to fuss over them and Dean’s basks in attention until Meg knocks on the door.

“Ready?” Meg asks with a smirk on her face.

Cheeks reddening a little, Dean nods along with Cas and Sam.

“Born ready, Meg,” Sam jokes and starts towards the door. Dean and Cas follow, the three of them end up flanked by Meg, Benny and Rudy as they head for the Starlight’s stage area.

Heading towards the wings, Dean can hear the crowd chattering and cheering on the theatre’s rolling grass mounds. From the wings, Dean can see one of the castle towers that borders the stage. The overall effect being that once the three of them stepped out it would like they were performing in the middle of a castle in some rock out vision of Disney.

“Shall we?” Cas asks as he eyes the stage and checks their ear pieces are working.

“Music ain’t gonna play itself,” says Dean and he cracks his neck.

“True.” Sam stalks out onto the stage and waves at their fans, leaving Cas and Dean to catch up with his long strides.

Stepping up beside his electric Les Paul, Dean picks up the guitar and slings its strap over his shoulder. The three of them get stuck into “Root of Harmony” and the audience screams, cheers and cries. There’s hands up in the air and Dean spirals upwards on the song and the emotions crowding into the massive open space.

The setlist is going well as night descends and for a moment Dean is glad that they didn’t go running to South Dakota. Dean’s happy that the three of them didn’t try to hide away from the world after what happened to Sam. A feeling of pride swells inside Dean’s chest as he catches glimpses of Sam giving the concert his all.

Smoke starts to spread across the stage during a rendition of “Fresh Essential”. For a moment Dean goes along with it, but then the gray smoke starts to obscure them from the audience and Dean’s fingers begin to falter along with his voice. Something isn’t right. Below the stage, the audience sprawled out on the theatre’s lawns are loudly wondering what is going on.

Dean can hardly see as he puts his guitar down, but he manages to see Sam and Cas. Walking over to them he waves a hand at the smoke. Cas mouths “no idea” and Sam shrugs. It’s thicker than the kind of smoke dry ice produces, and there’s a lot of it. Then it starts to clog Dean’s throat a little.

About ready to assume it’s all just a technical fault, Sam points at an orange glow coming from stage left and the three of them back away from the side of the stage, staying close together. The consistency of the smoke changes, stirring memories that Dean doesn’t want and an audience member near the stage starts to scream.

***

Understanding that a real fire is licking up the side of the stage that the three of them had walked in on doesn’t make it any easier for Sam to keep it together. He’s not sure where to go to, but then Cas makes a decision for the three of them, holding his hands out. Dean grabs his vintage Epiphone acoustic from its stand then joins hands with Castiel. The other instruments on stage hold no serious emotional value for Sam, so he just grabs onto Castiel’s right hand instead.

Quickly walking away from where the flames seem to be, the three of them head for the end of the stage and clear through some of the smoke. The audience is being led out of the outdoor theatre, all looking a lot calmer than what Sam feels.

A breeze shifts the smoke and suddenly they’re surrounded again, visibility nearly zero. It’s getting difficult to breathe and Sam tries not to focus on that so he doesn’t panic. Cas gets them to the edge of the stage.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” Cas announces. The drop is about eight foot, but what choice do they have? _If someone was gonna help, they would have been here by now_ , Sam rationalizes to himself.

“Sounds better than burning alive,” Dead deadpans.

“Sam?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, on three. One. Two. Three!” Cas pulls the two of them with him and they all jump off of the stage. Somehow Dean manages to save his guitar and not break his ankles, so Sam chalks that up to a win as the three of them stagger together and start moving in the same direction as the 28,000 people who were just watching them perform a few minutes ago.

There’s still plenty of people streaming towards exits, but the first fifty yards in front of the stage are clear. Or they are clear until Azazel steps through the crowd and grins at the three of them.

“Sammy boy! We didn’t get to finish our chat the other day.” Azazel smiles at them, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Fear stills Sam’s limbs. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say. Azazel looks the same as he did before Sam drank the tea and he doesn’t understand why Azazel has even risked coming to the concert, though Sam wouldn’t be surprised if the madman had something to do with the fire.

The fire finally tears down the turret on stage left and there’s a rush of heat and smoke towards them. Crashing behind them, Sam reflexively rolls onto the ground as a wave of dust and ash rushes over their position. Instinct makes Sam shield himself with his arms crossed over his head. A large beam lands on the ground right beside him, smashing into the grassy knoll that makes up the audience area of the theatre.

Waiting for the worst of the debris to past, Sam finally opens his eyes and coughs. Scrabbling to his feet, Sam ignores the pain that’s blossomed in his temple, instead looking around for any sign of Dean, Cas or Azazel. But he can’t see them through the smoke that now covers his position. Eyes stinging, Sam tries to listen for them, but he can’t hear anything over the roars of the crowd or the fire guzzling the castle stage.

Fighting fear that makes Sam want to curl into a ball there and just give up, Sam stumbles away from the roaring heat and heads towards the sound of the crowd. Sam hopes that as he moves away from the worst of the smoke, he might see Dean and Cas.

Coughing, Sam stops walking the second he hears a loud thump. _What was that?_

A gunshot sounds from near by, leaving Sam’s ears ringing. Wincing in pain from the noise, Sam stumbles towards the sound of the shot and comes across Dean, Cas and John. At their feet is a very dead Azazel.

“SAM!” Dean shouts and tears away from John and Cas. Hands are on him in an instant, checking him over and making sure he’s not hurt. Sam’s ribs twinge a little, though they were still hurting from his Chicago adventures, and his lungs burn, but otherwise he’s okay.

Distantly he’s aware of the sound of fire and police sirens, but Sam can’t stop looking at the body of Azazel cold and lifeless on the ground. There’s some sort of commotion from nearby and then a man in a suit appears, flashing a badge and asking them to step away from Azazel’s body.

“Sorry, who are you?” Cas asks, voice snapping through the air.

“Agent Hansom,” the man replies and flashes his badge again. There’s something about the FBI agent’s blue eyes, light brown hair and high cheekbones that seems familiar to Sam, but he can’t think why. He’s pretty sure he’s never met this man before this very moment.

“Fine.” John hands a handgun over and Agent Hansom maneuvers it into an evidence bag without even touching the weapon.

“Now let’s get you all to safety.” Agent Hansom starts leading the four of them away from the flames on the stage. Sam looks over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of orange and red flickering through the now black smoke.

Fire officers rush past them as they leave through and exit and Sam tries to hold himself together. He presses in by Dean and Cas, a part of him amazed that Dean still has his guitar. Paramedics rush towards them along with Agent Henriksen and his partner.

“Azazel’s inside. He’s dead,” Hansom announces and Agent Abner takes off after another group of fire officers, seemingly to secure the body.

Adrenaline starting to flee his system, Sam feels dizzy and nauseous as he’s bundled into the back of an ambulance for the second time in less than seven days.

***

Cold dead eyes stare up at Castiel in his mind’s eye. Azazel’s empty blue eyes, surrounded by a crown of blood from the bullet hole in his forehead. _If there is something John’s good at, it’s shooting_ , Castiel decides as he sits in the back of an ambulance on the way to a local hospital. A low ebb of fury runs under Castiel’s thoughts, but he can’t think on it now, can’t acknowledge the fact that it was John Winchester who had protected Sam and Dean. John who’d claimed revenge.

Rather than let himself think, Castiel allows a medic to put an oxygen mask on his face and check him for injuries. He doesn’t recall being struck by anything or being burned, but Castiel lets the medic work, the medic’s hands practiced and methodical while he checks over Castiel. When the medic’s hands leave him, Castiel drags his mask to the side and asks:

“Dean and Sam? Are they okay?” He puts the mask back on and waits for the medic to update him.

The medic puts an oxygen monitor on Castiel’s pointer finger and says, “Can’t tell you for now, sorry. But you’re all going to the same hospital, Saint Luke’s.”

For a fleeting moment, Castiel wishes he has spousal rights and then sighs through the mask. Speaking a little louder through the rush of oxygen, throat sore, Castiel asks if there were any injuries among the audience. The medic lets him know that no one in the audience was hurt and that everyone was evacuated from the backstage area fine.

Holding onto that good news, Castiel tries to stay calm as they head for the hospital. It’s only a short drive, but by the time they get to the ER, Castiel is feeling light headed and sick, shivering and struggling to breathe as the combination of an adrenaline crash and smoke inhalation hits him.

Finding it hard to keep his thoughts together, Castiel just lets himself be handled. He passes out at some point and wakes up in a bed, hospital gown on, hooked up to a series of monitoring machines, a new breathing mask on his face and a drip in his left hand. Looking around his bed he finally sees Meg sat in a chair beside his bed.

“Hey there, Clarence,” Meg greets, voice tired, a smile on her face. “How you feeling?”

“Like I smoked a thousand cigarettes in one go,” Castiel wheezes through his mask. “Where’s Sam and Dean?”

“Few beds down, and no worse than you. Sorry you haven’t got private rooms.” Meg gets up from her seat and looks around a curtain that Cas can’t see past.

“Doesn’t matter… Is John here?”

“He wasn’t so bad, so the FBI have taken him downtown to ask some questions.”

Nodding at that news, Castiel pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I need to see Sam and Dean.”

Meg gives Castiel a knowing smile and doesn’t try to argue. “I’ll see if I can get a wheelchair.”

Ten minutes later, Castiel is being wheeled about by Meg, oxygen tank and drip with him. Sam and Dean are at the other end of the ER, but there’s no mistaking the smiles that make their air masks hike up as Cas approaches. The two brothers have beds beside each other and an orderly lowers them so that they can talk more easily with Castiel.

“Kinda getting sick of hospitals,” Sam wheezes out through his mask. That gets a chuckle from Dean and Cas who both start coughing a little.

Getting his breathing under control, Castiel looks between the brothers, heart twisting to see them looking so worn and defenceless. There’s smudges of ash on their face and their skin is pale. Castiel is sure he probably doesn’t look much better, but that doesn’t make any of this okay.

“Do you think anyone’s got any whiskey in this place?” Dean jokes with a wheeze.

Another round of laughing and hacking up starts and once Castiel can breathe again he looks between Meg, Rudy and Benny. Rubbing a hand through his dusty hair, Castiel pulls his mask to the side so that there’s no mistaking what he says next.

“We need to figure out what we’re going to do about the rest of the tour.” Castiel puts his mask back on and breathes in deeply. It was going to take more than 24 hours—longer for Sam with his already bruised ribs—for the three of them to recover from this, but they also need to be careful of their voices.

Hurt look settling over Dean’s face, Castiel wishes that he could say that they’ll be able to go on, but they need to be realistic. Sam sits up in his bed a little more and pulls his mask aside.

“We should get Balthazar to cancel them. I can’t… I need time.” Sam puts his mask back on and Castiel realizes that it’s not just the physical injuries that the three of them need to recover from.

“Maybe we can reschedule for the late fall?” Meg offers up, clearly trying to play peacemaker. If the tour was cancelled indefinitely then Balthazar, Gabriel and the record company would have a fit and lose out on millions.

Meg’s offer gives them a couple of months to recuperate. Castiel looks between Dean and Sam, and the brothers nod in agreement. Castiel looks to Meg and nods.

“Okay, I’ll let Balthazar know.” Meg turns to Rudy and Benny. “Make sure they don’t get in trouble. Not like they have a private room,” Meg orders and stalks off, leaving everyone blushing.

Relaxing into the wheelchair, Castiel’s thoughts drift and he alternates between stroking Dean and Sam’s hands. Rudy disappears for a moment and comes back with bags containing their possessions. It’s automatic the way Castiel digs out his cell and turns it on. Checking his emails, he sees that he’s got something from Charlie.

**Hey Cas,**

**I can’t talk about this here, but I need to meet up with you guys. I found something.**

There’s an email after that one, sent by Charlie only twenty minutes ago:

**Fuck, only just heard about the crapfest in Kansas City. Hey, you guys heading back to Bobby’s? I can meet you there.**

Looking at Dean and Sam’s weary faces, Castiel knows that Bobby’s is going to be their next port of call once the hospital discharges them. Even he would rather go there to lick his wounds than anywhere else. Castiel types out a reply and hits send:

**Yeah. Soon as we’re discharged. See you there.**

Just as he’s about to hand his cell to Rudy to keep safe, the FBI agent that was first on the scene waltzes into their little corner of the ER. Agent Hansom stands at the foot of Sam and Dean’s beds, gaze flicking between the three of them.

“Just wanted to see how you’re all doing,” the agent explains, smile not quite reaching his blue eyes.

“We’re just peachy,” Dean wheezes through his mask.

“Good to hear. Well rest up and I’m sure you’ll be on the road again before you know it.” Agent Hansom’s smile grows wider and then he struts off and out of the ward.

 _What the hell was that about?_ Castiel ponders to himself as he watches the agent leave.

Alone as they’re going to be, Castiel starts to stroke Dean’s hand again. His lover turns to face him and Cas catches a smile.

“Son of a bitch is dead,” Dean states through his mask.

“Yep,” Cas replies.

“Wish I’d pulled the trigger,” Dean continues. “I shoulda put him down.”

Castiel glances over at Sam, but finds the younger brother is asleep. Not expressing his own thoughts and desires on the matter, Castiel just nods. “At least he’s dead.”

“Yeah, at least,” Dean agrees. The two of them don’t say anything else for now, watching each other as Sam sleeps on beside them, but Castiel wonders what news will be waiting for him in Sioux Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was determined to update this before we reached the New Year and here we are. Sorry for the wait, I'm hoping to start updating this one more frequently now. I know I've left us with more questions than answers after this update, but I hope you'll stick with Animus and me.
> 
> And thanks to [enoliel](http://enoliel.tumblr.com/) for talking to me about where I wanted to take the fic.
> 
> Cover art in Chapter 15 derived from "[Phish - Starlight Theater - Kansas City](https://www.flickr.com/photos/vwcampin/19762384714/)" by Shelby Bell, and is used under a [Attribution 2.0 Generic Creative Commons License](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode).


	16. Feels Like Home

Rolling her bright yellow VW bug up beside Bobby’s house, Charlie takes in the home’s bright blue paint and smiles. No matter how much the salvage yard encroaches on the house, Charlie can still imagine the summers she, Dean, Sam and Cas spent together—her curled up on a couch in one of Bobby’s workshops, laptop in tow, while the guys rehearsed and she coded. Cutting the engine, Charlie opens her car door and steps out into the summer heat. She grabs her laptop bag (several upgrades newer than the one she used during the last summer they all spent together), and one tray of coffees and whatever Sam’s drinking these days—Charlie can’t describe it as coffee. She holds onto her own mocha.

Charlie heads with her haul to Bobby’s front door, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder. She rings the bell and waits.

“Mornin’, Charlie… That Columbian roast?” Bobby queries as he opens the front door. He takes a hearty sniff of the cardboard cups Charlie’s holding in front of her. Seeming to find the cup intended for him, Bobby takes it out of the tray, steps aside and grins at Charlie. “You’re an angel. I ever tell you that?”

Chuckling, Charlie winks at Bobby and heads into the mechanic’s home. “No, but I’ll take the compliment.” Little has changed in Bobby’s house since Charlie was last there, at Christmas. She follows Bobby through to the kitchen and places the trays of caffeinated beverages down on the table. Habit makes her roll up the sleeves of her thin pink zip-up hoodie. The kitchen light above the table causes it to look like a smaller version of the table from _Doctor Strangelove_.

Now that she’s in the house proper, she hears the movements of who she assumes are her favorite musicians. Sitting down at the table, laptop bag at her feet, Charlie takes a sip of her mocha, enjoying its chocolateness. She’s not sure quite what to make of what she’s found for Cas during her digging, but she’s not about to start discussing it with Bobby, not because Cas said not to (he had), but because of just how weird the information is.

“Dean, Sam, Cas!” Bobby hollers from the living room, “Charlie’s here!”

The sound of rushing footsteps creaking along upstair bedroom floors and then rushing down the stairs takes Charlie back to the summers when she use to call by almost every day. Dean reaches the kitchen first. He strides over and pulls Charlie up from her seat and hugs her tight.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Dean mumbles from somewhere in the vicinity of Charlie’s right shoulder.

“You too,” Charlie replies, pulling back a little. There’s dark half-circles under Dean’s eyes and he looks like he’s lost weight. A pang of regret cuts through Charlie and she wishes she could have joined them on tour this time. Part of her knows that she wouldn’t have been able to stop much of what happened, but she knows the benefits of a friendly face.

Dean’s hands slide away and he studies the cups of coffee on the table. He points at one cup. “Black, no sugar?”

“Correctomondo,” Charlie answers. Dean grabs his cup and sits down opposite Charlie.

Cas and Sam finally stumble into the kitchen and Charlie hears Bobby head out the back door and into the yard. It’s just the four of them in the house.

“Charlie,” Sam says softly and leans over Charlie to wrap his arms around her. “Missed you.” Gently hugging her moose back, Charlie can’t help hearing how wrecked Sam’s voice is.

“Missed you too, mister,” Charlie says into Sam’s chest.

Sam gingerly lets go and sits down at the table beside Dean. Charlie puts Sam’s latte with two shots of espresso, vanilla syrup and a buttload of sugar in front of him.

Finally Castiel ambles over, places a hand warmly on her shoulder and squeezes. “It is good to see you.”

“Oh for…” Charlie mumbles, and before Cas knows what’s happening, Charlie scrambles off her chair and wraps her arms around Castiel’s middle. “You get a hug too.”

Castiel hugs her back, but if he wants to get on with learning what she’s found out, her friend shows no sign of being in a rush. He lets go of Charlie, takes seat and the last remaining coffee.

“You guys gonna head back on tour?” Charlie asks as the guys settle down around the table. It’s like they’re some super secret super hero organization, brought together to discuss the fate of the world.

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Balthazar and Gabriel have almost got us sorted to head back on the road in the fall,” Dean starts and then clears his throat. “Good thing we’ve got a lot of paying, _loyal_ fans—venues are rolling over to sort us new dates.”

 _That’s good_ , Charlie thinks as she nods in approval. “Well, I’m glad you’re home for now.”

“Things getting a little too dull for you, eh?” Dean teases.

Rolling her eyes, Charlie side eyes Dean. “Meatspace is forever fascinating, Dean. Especially when you’re the Queen of Moondor. No, I’m just happy to see you guys. I am allowed to miss you, you dorks.”

Seeing her three friends in one piece is something that Charlie hadn’t realized she needed. Fan leaked grainy photos of the concert fire posted on Myspace don’t make for reassuring perusal at one in the morning. Though the same could be said for a lot of people’s posts on the site.

The four of them talk for a while and catch up as they drink their coffees. It all seems so normal and civilized, though Charlie doesn’t miss the glances that the guys keep throwing each other, or the way they brush each other’s hands, or the clear linking of legs under the table. She doesn’t miss any of that, though she was happily surprised the previous year when she realized that Cas was with Dean and Sam. None of the guys have talked to her about how they’re more than just brothers or friends, but Charlie keeps their secrets.

But when she’s left alone with Castiel—Dean and Sam having been called away by Bobby to help him get groceries—Charlie is happy to spill Azazel’s secrets. His are not for her to keep.

***

Heading into Sioux Falls proper, Dean slips a baseball cap on and a pair of shades, while Sam dons a green beanie and his own shades. They’re not in their usual stage gear, instead opting to look less like the stars of a platinum selling band and more like the people they were raised with. Plaid, t-shirts, blue jeans, boots—civilians who aren’t plastered over the entertainment updates on twenty-four hour rolling news and that weird TMZ website that Gabriel thinks is the herald of the end times.

It’s strange, but Dean feels a little naked without Benny and Rudy out with them, watching their backs. They’d told the guys to have a week off after what had happened and it made sense to. Azazel is dead and they didn’t even kill him—that’s on John. So why does Dean feel like he’s being watched? He can’t see anyone or anything out of place as he and Sam follow Bobby into a Kroger.

Distantly, Dean is aware that Bobby’s pushing a cart towards the back of the store, heading over to where cuts of beef sit in a chiller cabinet, boxed and waiting. But Dean’s not paying attention, hairs standing up on the back of his neck as he nervously looks around. He’s so distracted, he doesn’t notice Sam slipping a hand down his back left pocket, but he does notice the firm squeeze Sam gives his ass. The pressure stilling the growing panic so that it’s no longer bubbling up inside of him.

“Hey,” Sam says quietly, just so Dean can hear, “you okay?”

Dean lets out a long breath and swallows. “I can’t… can’t quite let go, y’know?”

Sam shifts his hand and wraps it around to Dean’s right hip. He gives Dean a side on hug. “Yeah… I kinda.. Yeah. It’s a little unreal to think that he’s finally dead.”

“But he had others, you said… what if they come for us? What if they’re pissed that he’s dead?”

“The FBI said we’ll be fine…” Sam replies, voice going quiet. He glances around nervously and shakes his head. “Maybe we could call Benny? See if he wants to cut his vacation short? Do you think Rudy will too? Where can they stay?”

“Could clean out the trailer out back? Sure it would suit them just fine.” Dean reassures. He switches positions as Sam’s attempts to be comforting slip away, fear dawning across his features. His younger brother looks scared.

“I miss everyone,” Sam whispers.

And feeling a pang in his chest, Dean realizes he misses everyone else from the tour too. Even I-should-know-better-than-to-pull-back-a-curtain Balthazar. It’s weird not having their regular dose of Garth breaking out with little facts as the tour bus rolls across the country. And it feels wrong not having Meg trying to mother the lot of them.

A throat clears in front of them and the two of them look up to see Bobby quirking an eyebrow at them. Remembering where they are, Dean and Sam break apart as if they hadn’t been acting like they were something more to each other.

“You two gonna help me pick out groceries or what?” Bobby grouses and chucks some cheap cuts of beef into their shopping cart. He’d said something during the drive over about making burgers for dinner.

“Sorry, Bobby,” Dean apologizes. Getting their head in the game, Dean and Sam help Bobby pick out groceries, and if they buy more beer than they would normally—no one says anything. If somehow before they leave town they’ve also acquired a bottle of bourbon and two bottles of tequila? No one remarks on it.

Once they’re back on the road home, Dean feels less like he’s being watched. The tension eases out of his shoulders as he drives the Impala along familiar roads, the solid purr of the engine vibrating through his body.

“I was thinkin’,” Bobby starts as the houses and businesses begin to thin. “Now, I love having you boys with me… you know that. But I was thinkin’ that maybe, it was time the three of you got your own pl—”

Dean doesn’t remember slamming on the brakes, but suddenly the car isn’t moving. The road’s deserted bar them. His heart is hammering in his chest and he can’t bring his lips to move.

“Dean!” Sam reaches out and lays a hand on his arm.

 _Bobby wants us to leave. Bobby wants us to leave. Bobby wants us to leave_ —goes around and around Dean’s mind. His knuckles are white as he grips the Impala’s steering wheel.

Vision going a little black around the edges, it takes Dean a moment to figure out that he hasn’t breathed in a while. Drawing in one long breath, Dean tries to master himself as Sam sits beside him, face white with panic and Bobby looks him over at him from the back seat.

Breathing leveling out, Dean’s hands uncurl from the steering wheel and he sags against his seat. He licks his lips and waits for the final verdict.

“If you’d let me finish, you idjit, I was gonna say that I was thinking about building you your own house… by mine.” Bobby crosses his arms and glares at Dean when he meets his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

Sam lovingly strokes a hand down Dean’s arm. “What do you think? A place of our own, with Cas?”

Dean gives a shaky nod and then gets out the car. “You better… drive,” Dean manages. He and Sam switch seats and get the car going again before any other vehicles show up.

The rest of the drive back home is tense and silent. Dean knows he needs to say something, but it’s not until they’re rolling up to the blue house—that has been home for so long—that Dean understands that Bobby isn’t getting rid of them. They get out of the car, but before they start to get the groceries out of the trunk, Dean turns to Bobby.

“Thank you, Bobby,” says Dean, voice thick with emotion.

The two of them are standing apart and then Bobby shakes his head. “C’mere.” Bobby opens his arms and pulls Dean into a hug.

***

“I think Sam met Ruby,” Cas explains, looking at the photo up on Charlie’s laptop screen. He remembers a description that Sam had given him, and the photo also matches a description Dean had given of the woman he’d seen Sam with in DC. _She fits what they said_ , Castiel thinks to himself.

“Right, so her and Alex/Annie haven’t been found yet. But I don’t think Azazel is the one. I found some emails asking about land records for some place outside of Lawrence. The FBI and Winchester senior went to a farm that looks like it was used by some cult in the ‘70s.” Charlie’s fingers dance across the keyboard some more.

“And here we are, photos dug up by our FBI friends. They were found on the cult site.” Charlie pulls up a scanned photo on the laptop screen. “This is a younger Azazel,” says Charlie, pointing at a familiar figure in a faded photo. “And this—I don’t know. But this boy is in loads of photos taken up at the compound the feds found with John.”

Frowning, Castiel stares at a blonde haired, blue eyed boy. There is just something about his eyes that seem really familiar, but Castiel can’t place the child. “This boy, he’s, what eight? What’s he doing at a cult compound. Nothing else has shown that other children were there.”

Charlie presses a key and another photo comes up. The boy is sat on Azazel’s shoulder, with his blonde tufty hair all over the place and only one strap of his dungarees on. The boy looks like any other boy. Any other boy with his dad. Castiel wonders who took the photos.

“Was… is this Azazel’s son?”

Charlie shrugs. “There’s very few public records for Azazel. I mean, how can that be his real name? Who has a name like that? And there’s no record of him ever having had any kids.”

Humming thoughtfully, Castiel gets up and starts to pace the kitchen. “But Azazel definitely headed a cult?”

“No doubt about it. They called themselves The Rebirth. How Dean and Sam’s mom got caught up in it I don’t think we’ll ever know. But the cult couldn’t have been good news. I mean, look at this.” Charlie brings up another photo. This one’s recent. Castiel’s never going to ask Charlie how she managed to get hold of all of these FBI files, but he leans over her shoulder and stares at a carved up wall. The symbols drawn into its plaster are unfamiliar and alien.

“What does it say?”

“Took me a while to find out what language it was, wasn’t code. Something called Enochian. Anyway, this says: “He will join us. He will cleanse us. He will glorify us. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him.””

Tilting his head, Castiel’s brow creases as he frowns. “Sounds ominous… Can you go back to that pic of Azazel and the kid?”

“Sure.” Charlie clicks back through the photos until the one with Azazel and the strange boy on his shoulder appears. Gripping the back of Charlie’s chair, Castiel studies the image, trying to call up from somewhere in his memories where he has seen those eyes before.

Nothing comes to him. Castiel straightens up and then hears the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine as Bobby returns with Dean and Sam.

Without him needing to say anything, Charlie is packing up her laptop. Castiel heads out to the yard to help bring the grocery bags in, schooling his face to its usual impassiveness. Walking out through the front door, Castiel is surprised to see Bobby and Dean embracing. He gives Sam a querying look and Sam wanders over to him.

“Bobby gave us some news, well, after Dean freaked out on the way home.” There’s a huge grin on Sam’s face.

Raising his eyebrows, Castiel prompts, “And?”

“And he wants to build a home for the three of us, here. Like get rid of some of the junkyard and build a home for _us_ ,” Sam says, voice wobbling a little with emotion. There’s no warning as Sam flings his arms around Castiel and hugs him, nuzzling his face into Castiel’s neck.

Castiel hugs Sam back, his lover’s words sinking in. He hadn’t been able to live with his family since embarking on a career as a rock musician. They thought his choice sinful—and that was just the genre of music he played. Castiel's family have no clue just how deeply involved with Sam and Dean he is. Home has become wherever Dean and Sam are, and the idea of having a home that the three of them can call their own makes Castiel’s stomach flip.

Easing Sam away a little, Castiel brings his hands to Sam’s face and kisses the younger man, there in the yard. Sam’s hands wander up and down Castiel’s sides as they kiss and Sam presses up against him. It’s a good thing no one else can see into Bobby’s yard as Castiel slips his tongue into Sam’s mouth. He’s not sure how long he kisses Sam, dick stirring with interest, but suddenly he gets whacked on his back and he disengages from Sam with a grunt.

“Yo, we got groceries that need carrying!” Dean announces with a smirk on his face. Rolling his eyes, Castiel follows Dean over to the car with Sam. It doesn’t take them long to bring the groceries in and put it all away.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur and Castiel tries to sort through all the information that Charlie uncovered while being present enough for Dean and Sam. That afternoon finds the three of them and Charlie are in the workshop Bobby still leaves free for them to practice in.

No one’s started playing yet, instead they’re just checking their new instruments over. Balthazar had them delivered yesterday and Castiel knows that the drum kit is the same as the one that went up in flames, but it just doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like his. He decides to talk to Balthazar soon about letting them head into an actual store so they can pick their own new instruments.

“So,” Charlie announces from the couch she’s sprawled over, “I think it’s about time that I point out a little something.”

Castiel looks up from his drum kit. “Oh?”

“Look, I saw you and Sam locking lips earlier,” Charlie points out. Castiel’s stomach goes icy. “And well, I’ve known about the three of you since last summer… Longer for Dean and Sam.”

Three pale faces stare back at Charlie.

“And… it’s fine. Just… I wanted you all to know your secret is safe with me.”

 _Oh_ , Castiel thinks and then says, “Oh,” outloud.

***

 _A home of our own_ , Sam tells himself again as he chews and swallows another bite of homemade burger. He’s crowded around Bobby’s kitchen table with Charlie and Bobby on his right, Cas and Dean on his left. It’s evening and the day’s heat is slowly subsiding. The burger is excellent, but Sam’s distracted by the way Castiel’s right leg keeps pressing up against his left. Unable to focus as he watches Dean swallow a swig of beer, Adam’s apple bobbing beautifully with each glug of the amber liquid.

“Say, Bobby,” Charlie starts, putting her burger down and picking up her beer. “Fancy heading to the Roadhouse tonight?”

Bobby swallows and nods. “Oh… what the hell. It’s not like I was gonna do anything else.”

It wasn’t like it was planned, but Sam sees what Charlie’s doing as she eases Bobby into a conversation about needing to catch up anyways and the guys probably needing to rest. No one hints at what Dean, Cas and Sam might get up to aside from sleeping if they are left alone. The three of them have never liked being too obvious around Bobby, even if he does know what they are to each other.

But they are alone soon enough and Cas ushers them up into their shared room—two bedrooms knocked into one—and the door’s closed shut. The three of them look hungrily at each other. It’s been days since they were close and even if their lungs feel like they’ve been breathing in crushed glass—there’s no mistaking the need and desire filling the room.

Cas moves first, long fingered hands reaching up towards Dean and Sam, stroking their faces and pulling them close. The three of them exchange kisses, hands working over each-other’s clothes, forcing shirts and jeans to the floor. Boxers follow quickly after and Castiel eases them to one of the room’s queen size beds.

“Is everyone green?” Cas asks, voice heavy with want.

Eager yeses are uttered by Dean and Sam. Cas arranges the two of them on the bed, making Sam go on all fours and raise his ass high up in the air. Sam’s facing the end of the bed, a foot between him and the edge. Just not knowing what Cas is planning has Sam’s cock chubbing between his legs and he catches a glimpse that tells him Dean is no different.

Plastic crinkles behind Sam, but he stays where he is and then something wet wipes down between his ass cheeks before cleaning up his hole. He’s starting to get an idea of where this is going and then Dean shifts behind him.

“Dean, doesn’t Sam look just so delicious there?” Cas asks, and Sam hears the snapping of straps that sounds like leather cuffs being fitted on Dean’s wrists. A hand reaches up to each of Sam’s butt cheeks and holds on.

“Sam looks good enough to eat,” Dean replies, voice thick. Body tense with anticipation, Sam ignores the dull ache in his ribs as he waits.

“Eat Sammy out, Dean,” Cas commands. Dean’s hot breath ghosts over Sam’s hole and then his brother’s wet tongue dances over it. The teasing heat makes Sam whine, but he doesn’t push back, because he has an idea what’s about to happen next.

Tongue flicking over Sam’s entrance, tip pushing at that tight pink furl of muscles, Dean braces himself as he breathes in Sam’s musk and tastes him. The cuffs and chain between his wrists give Dean enough slack to hold on to each of Sam’s butt cheeks, but that’s it. Dean works another moan out of Sam, making blood rush to his own cock and then there’s the gentle shift of air above his cheeks.

THWACK! Castiel’s palm and fingers snap along his left butt cheek, making Dean gasp and push his tongue a little deeper into Sam. His little brother keens, hips shaking. Dean feels a flood of relief as Castiel strikes his cheek again, making his skin heat up. He hadn’t realized how much that he needed this, how much they needed it as Sam whimpers in front of him. What with the fire and heading back home, it was surprising that the three of them had managed to not freak out.

But it wouldn’t have been much longer.

“Such,” THWACK, “a,” THWACK, “beautiful,” THWACK, “view,” THWACK, “the,” THWACK, “two,” THWACK, “of,” THWACK, “you,” THWACK, “make.” THWACK. Castiel’s hand doesn’t let up and Dean is painfully hard as he eats Sam out.

Dean feels safe and loved as he’s worked over while getting to pleasure Sam. He’s hoping that Cas will let Dean give Sam something more than his tongue, but for now he eats his brother out like he’s the tastiest slice of apple pie to ever grace his lips.

Looking over Dean and Sam’s prone forms, Castiel can’t help squeezing his hard, leaking cock. The two brothers are just beautiful like this, Dean’s reddening ass and Sam’s breathy needy moans. Each strike makes Castiel feel like Dean is relaxing into himself more. Each of Sam’s whimpers makes Castiel feel proud that he can give his boys what they need most. He knows the events of recent weeks aren’t going away, but he enjoys being able to help them feel good.

“Sammy, tell Dean what a good job he’s doing,” Castiel orders, palm snapping across Dean’s right butt cheek.

Panting, Sam tries to gather his wits together enough as Dean’s mouth continues to taste him. “You’re fucking… fantastic Dee. Damn, so good… the way you’re… getting me so… wet.”

Cas clears his throat. “Good boy, Sammy. Dean…” THWACK. “Do you wanna be a good boy?”

Humming in response, Dean continues his task as Cas hasn’t told him to stop.

“Good, Dean. Good.” Castiel’s hand starts rubbing soothing circles over Dean’s red cheeks. “I want you to stop eating out Sam, and start opening him up with your fingers. Think you can do that for me, Dean?”

Finally given permission to stop eating Sam out, Dean pulls back, causing a whine to rise out of Sam. “Yes,” Dean eagerly replies.

Sneaking a peek back over his shoulder, Sam watches as Cas helps slick up Dean’s right index finger with lube. Turning away, Sam settles again and then Dean’s hands are back on him. Sam’s hole flutters around Dean’s finger as he begins to push it inside him. It doesn’t take much work to get Dean’s finger all the way inside of Sam, Dean’s tongue having already helped ease it some of the way. Breath stuttering in his chest a little, Sam moans as Dean strokes against his prostate, making his balls tighten.

“Don’t make Sam come yet,” Cas warns from behind. Sam hears the sound of Dean gasping in a way that only happens when he’s being fingered opened himself.

It doesn’t take long for both brothers to be open and eager, little moans and whines filling the air. Castiel smiles and helps Dean lube up his eager drooling cock before lubing up his own. Dean slides into his brother first, bringing his chain around Sam’s stomach, causing Sam to curse and sigh from the coldness of the links. Castiel waits a moment and then he slips inside of Dean, making the older Winchester gasp. Staying still inside of Dean, inside his tight wet heat, is hard for Castiel, but he waits.

And then Dean starts a tentative thrust that Castiel mimics and their speed builds as they try again and again, hips in sync. All Castiel can hear is the brothers’ gasps and the slap-slap-slap of flesh on flesh. Staring over Dean’s back at the two brothers makes Castiel pleased in ways he would find hard to describe if asked. To feel Dean thrusting in and out of Sam as he does the same to Dean—it’s heavenly.

“Fuck… missed… you… guys…” Sam pants out as his arms strain, the younger Winchester clinging on for dear life so he doesn’t slip off the bed.

“Missed… you… too…” Dean agrees, trying to not completely lose himself in the moment, lest he lose his rhythm. Sam’s hot wetness surrounding him while Cas fills his own hole is one of Dean’s favourite things—being in the middle of a Sam and Cas sandwich.

“And I... both of you,” Cas announces from the back, voice deeper than usual.

Dean fucks Sam just so, getting the angle his brother needs to shake beneath him and babble a little about how good he and Cas are. The way they’re fucking each other here and now, you’d think the three of them hadn’t seen each other in weeks, but it’s amazing how not being able to be intimate with each for only a few days could make them all a little needy. A handjob here or a blowjob there can only do so much.

“Need to come… please, Cas,” Sam begs, hole clenching around Dean.

Crying out, Dean begs the same.

“Well… as you both asked me so… nicely. You may… come,” Cas announces.

Sam doesn’t need any more prompting and shouts loudly as he comes, thick ropes of white splurging onto the bed covers below him. His orgasm makes his hole clench tightly around Dean and then his brother’s crying both Cas and Sam’s names. Dean’s come fills Sam, while Dean pants against the skin of his back.

“FUCK!” Cas shouts as he finally follows both brothers. The three of them hold themselves up only just as they try to regain their breath. With some effort, they disengage from each other and then Sam lets himself be cleaned up by Dean, his restraints now gone.

It takes a bit of doing, but the three of them eventually settle into the same bed, stinking of sex and all happier than they have been in days.

***

Thirst wakes Sam up at stupid o’clock in the night. Untangling himself from Dean and Cas, he slips on a robe and tiptoes out of their room. He hears Bobby snoring from his own room and assumes that Charlie made it home okay or ended up staying over at Ellen’s. There is a high chance of the latter, because Sam knows that Charlie’s had a long term crush on their friend, Ellen’s daughter, Jo.

Walking silently down the dark stairs, Sam heads for the kitchen and the refrigerator. He gets himself a bottle of water and closes the refrigerator. Glugging a mouthful of cold water down, Sam feels like he’s being watched. The bottle of water hovers in front of Sam’s lips as he looks out the kitchen window into the darkness outside, but all he can see are the distant hulking shapes of the scrap vehicles piled up out there.

He sighs. _There’s nothing out there Sam. Okay…_ but the memories of Ruby and Alex/Annie, grinning at him from that rotting kitchen, crawl into his mind and Sam shudders. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he wonders if Benny and Rudy will say yes to coming back early.

Drinking another mouthful of water, Sam looks out into the darkness, shifting slightly on his feet. He shudders, not because of feeling like he’s being watched, but because of Dean’s come choosing this moment to drip out of his hole and down the back of his right leg.

“Oh, for…” Sam grumbles and hurries off for the bathroom, thoughts on feeling watched disappearing as he tries not to make a mess.

Downstairs, outside the kitchen window, a tall, masculine, figure steps forward from the shadows of dead cars. He’s dressed all in black, blonde hair hidden under a black beanie. Blue eyes staring out over the blue house that sleeps, the man slips away from the happy home and walks away noiselessly. He skillfully dodges out of sight of the watching gaze of one of the entertainment world’s most notorious journalists, though is annoyed that he has to.

 _That one’s becoming a problem_ , the figure muses and starts thinking of ways he could take Bela Talbot out of the picture. Permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this update. Had to get this one out, it was making it hard to focus on anything else. I would have gotten this to you all sooner, but people have been asking to me socialize a lot lately.
> 
> There are still a fair few twists and turns left for the boys to take.
> 
> So... see you in the comments :)


	17. Last Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP!!!!!!!
> 
> This chapter examines the day when Sam tried to commit suicide the previous summer. It's not particularly graphic in the way it's described, but it's intense. If you don't want to read about this, then you can skip this chapter—I would completely understand if you did.

The sixth night at Bobby’s finds Sam gasping awake at two in the morning, nightmare still fresh, its claws dug tightly into his thoughts. He shakes between the press of Dean and Cas, but neither of them wakes, the whiskey they’d drunk letting them sleep. But Sam hadn’t drunk nearly as much, and so none of his fear is numbed. He climbs out of the bed and makes his way on shaky feet to the guest bathroom.

Sam closes the door but doesn’t lock it. He leans against the sink and turns on the faucet, splashing cold water against his face, room lit by a half-moon outside. For a second he sees blood running away in the water and he has to blink. Blink and forget. The date has snuck up on Sam without him even realizing it was so close, but the deep recesses of his mind haven’t forgotten. Those same recesses now caught in the hooks of the fading nightmare.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Sam mutters to himself, catching sight of his waxy white face. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He slaps himself in the face, again and again. “Stupid!”

Wet hair clinging to his forehead, Sam sobs as he looks at himself in the mirror. A mixture of relief and horror swirling, because he’s here, _still_. Gasping for air, Sam slides down against the side of the nearby tub and leans against it as he tries to breathe and cry at the same time.

It’s funny how dates can affect a person, but with being on tour, and the whole thing with Azazel, Sam had been losing track of time. But some part of his brain had been counting down the days and now the day is upon him. One single year since he had tried to end everything, thanks to his father.

Studying the tiled floor through his tears, Sam can’t help wondering how long it took Bobby to clean up his blood, as he slips back to that day...

“You listening, Sammy?” asks Dean, peering over at his brother. The workshop is warm and making Sam feel sleepy. They’ve only been back at Bobby’s twenty-four hours, their first tour under their belts. They’re already trying to pull together some new material, because Balthazar and Gabriel want them back in the studio by Christmas.

“Sorry… I think I need a break, can we get some air?” Sam puts his bass on its stand and stretches. “Grab a soda?”

Cas puts his sticks down and Dean places his Les Paul on its stand. “I think we could all use a break,” states Cas, leading the way out of the workshop.

Sam and Dean follow, elbows bumping against each other. They head back into Bobby’s house and crowd into the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator for soda. Sam gets a cream soda while Dean and Cas both have grape. There’s beers in there, but no one’s going to touch those until they’ve at least got a line or a melody to start working with. Cas nips into the living room and picks up a blanket.

Song notebook and a pen heavy in the right back pocket of his jeans, Sam leads the way back out of the house. The three of them walk a familiar path through the junkyard that surrounds the house, making their way out towards the garden that lines one side of Bobby’s property. The can of soda is slick with condensation in Sam’s hand, so he holds on tight. Slowly, heat beating down on them, they make their way towards the weeping willow that dominates the garden, which is basically a field that Bobby’s managed to not fill up with car parts yet.

Cas deftly unfurls the blanket between the tree’s roots, at the foot of the trunk, in the one spot they always sit. The tartan esque red and blue woven yarn is soft under Sam’s hands as he sits down on it, pulling his notebook out of his pocket as he goes. Dean settles on Sam’s left and Cas on Sam’s right. Under the shade of the willow, Sam catches patches of the blue sky above, but otherwise they’re sheltered from the sun.

“Alright.” Dean snaps the ring pull on his grape soda and takes a small slurp of the sweet fizzing liquid. “Anyone got anything?”

“I figured we should write something that details your viridian eyes and how they make all the ladies swoon,” jokes Cas.

Chuckling, Sam opens his soda. “I hear what you’re saying, Cas, but do we really need an entire song to encourage our fans to do what they’re already doing. Remember the brunette, that college girl, backstage in Seattle? She did not need a song to—”

“Hey now, that was not my fault!” Dean interrupts. “She wrapped her arms around me while I was trying to sign that shirt. And boy did she have a grip. I couldn’t wiggle out of that without ending up down at the local precinct.”

Sam takes a sip of his soda and relaxes at the familiar taste of vanilla rolling out over his tongue. “Dean makes a fair point. That wasn’t entirely his fault, and it was a sneak attack hug…” Sam’s voice trails off and he nestles his soda can between the willow’s roots along with his notebook. He turns to Dean who’s just taking another glug of soda. Sam waits until Dean swallows, watching his Adam’s apple bob, and then he’s on Dean’s mouth, lips and tongue insistent as he chases the taste of grape.

“Mmm, Sam, you’re right, it’s never Dean’s fault that he’s so tempting,” Cas comments, watching the two brothers. “The way his very being just demands to be worshipped.”

Taking Castiel’s words as his cue to straddle Dean’s lap, Sam clambers up onto Dean, Cas quickly taking Dean’s soda can out of the way. Dean opens his mouth to Sam, letting Sam’s tongue thrust in and out as the two of them harden in their jeans. Cas kneels beside them and manoeuvres Dean’s hands so that he’s stroking Sam under his t-shirt.

They’re alone and free to be whatever they want to be. Free to be themselves. Bobby’s in town running errands and visiting Ellen, not likely to be back for a few hours yet. So Sam presses his hardness against Dean’s lower stomach and gets a loud moan for his effort. Breaking for air, Sam quickly whips his head around and kisses Cas, who opens to him easily, their tongues meeting as Sam lets Cas taste Dean on him. Then Cas pulls back and trades kisses with Dean.

Around and around they go, the three of them passing kisses between each other, tingling with the contact. Sam feels light headed as his best friend and his brother come round and round again for a kiss. It’s not helping them write any songs, but it feels good. They haven’t been like this with each other, _outside_ , since Cas joined them like this. While it could go further, Sam’s just happy to kiss in place where he feels safe and wanted.

“WHAT IN THE HELL?!” shouts a not so familiar voice from twenty yards away, the tone almost a howl.

Fear crawling up his spine, Sam turns, still straddling Dean’s lap, and sees John Winchester staring at them aghast. Bobby’s pulling on his left arm, trying to yank John away from them. The fury on John’s face tells Sam that their father has seen enough.

Limbs responding as if they’ve just been electrocuted, Sam scrambles off of Dean’s lap and backs away from John and Bobby. Dean and Cas stand in front of him, almost shielding Sam as they step away from the two men.

John advances on them. “WHAT IN HELL’S NAME ARE YOU DAMN WELL DOING! THIS SICK AND WRONG!”

“John! Stop! STOP!” Bobby shouts in a pleading voice, trying to put a hand on John’s shoulder, but he just keeps shaking it off.

The whole scene feels like it’s happening to someone else. Sam feels distant and faint, vision blurring a little at the edges as his father steps closer and closer, while they try to back away from him. Wood hits Sam’s back and he realizes they’ve reached the end of the garden as a low wooden fence presses against his back. Sam wishes that the very earth would open up and swallow him, drag him down to where his father clearly believes he belongs.

“DEAN, HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING WITH YOUR OWN BROTHER?! I DIDN’T GIVE YOU TWO UP SO YOU COULD BECOME FUCKING FREAKS!”

John’s angry words blur and everything seems a shade darker. It’s with distant terror that Sam watches Dean step forward towards John, right arm pulling back and then launching his fist forwards to slam into John’s face, knocking their father to the ground. Sam can’t hear Bobby and Cas shouting at Dean to stop, only vaguely seeing their shapes holding him back after he lands a kick to John’s kidneys.

He must have blacked out, because the next thing Sam’s aware of, is Cas pulling him to his feet. But he doesn’t understand Castiel’s words, though he can vaguely hear sirens in the background. Everything is like Sam has been pushed underwater, the world around him is washed out and alien. Dean runs up to him, says something, but Sam can’t hear him. Drifting along, Sam lets himself be taken into Bobby’s house, body shivering and quaking in Cas and Dean’s hold.

Dragging him upstairs, feet hardly cooperating, Sam lets Dean and Cas steer him into the bed in the guest room. Dean stays with Sam as Cas heads back downstairs. Warm arms wrap around Sam and he vaguely comprehends that Dean is hugging him, but Sam still cannot understand the words that are spilling from his brother’s mouth. All thought is silent in Sam’s head, shock seeping deep into his bones as he drowns in after images of the scene from outside.

Sam blinks and Cas is standing in front of them and Sam still can’t understand what’s being said. Whatever’s being said makes Dean unwrap himself from Sam and follow Cas out of the bedroom. Dean gives Sam a glance as he reaches the doorway, lips moving, but again Sam doesn’t hear him.

Alone for the first time in hours, Sam sits on the bed and trembles. Piece by piece, thoughts begin to assemble themselves in his head. One word repeating over and over.

“Freak,” Sam whispers to no one other than himself.

Despite the afternoon heat, the bedroom feels cold as Sam gets to his feet and makes his way to the guest bathroom. _Freak… Freak… Freak…_ each footstep says. Sam closes the door as he enters the bathroom, but doesn’t lock it behind him. Booted feet gently thumping across the white floor tiles, Sam wanders over to the medicine cabinet.

It wasn’t until back there under the willow that Sam had doubted what he had been doing with Dean since he was eighteen. Now standing in front of the cabinet, pale face in the mirror, Sam can’t drowning in the revulsion shown by the father who had never been a father to him. John’s words have cut deep.

“Freak,” Sam whispers again. He opens the cabinet and finds the old fashioned razor inside it that Dean sometimes shaves with. Flipping the blade out of its bone handle, Sam looks at the long sharp edge, no real plan in his mind as he sinks deeper and deeper. He’s drowning in a way he never thought he could.

Sam grips the razor in his left hand as he turns his right wrist towards himself.

He makes the cut...

“SAM, YOU IN HERE?” Dean calls, morning light starting to spill through the bathroom window.

Blinking open bleary eyes, Sam wakes up beside the tub. It’s a year to the day that Sam tried to kill himself and he is still here. Sam clears his throat as he looks down at the tattoos covering his right arm. “Yeah, in here,” Sam calls back.

Dean opens the bathroom door, face filled with concern and looks down at Sam in surprise. “You spend the whole night in here?”

“Uhhhh…

“Is Sam in there?” Cas calls.

“He’s here!” Dean answers. “Dude, like, you hardly drank anything last night…” Dean starts, clearly thinking Sam fell asleep in the bathroom after puking up.

Subconsciously, Sam rubs at the scar along the inside of his right wrist and Dean seems to catch onto the motion. Sam watches as Dean seems to slot a series of puzzle pieces together in his head, and then he’s kneeling down beside Sam, wrapping his arms around his brother.

“Everyday that you’re still here is a blessing,” Dean whispers. “We love you, Sam. Love you so much.” Dean kisses Sam’s hair and then helps him get to his feet. “Bobby’s making pancakes. You want some?”

“Yes,” Sam replies hoarsely. Dean pulls back a little, and uses his thumb to wipe away a tear that Sam didn’t even know he’d shed. “I love you and Cas too.”

“We know.”

Sam is led out of the bathroom and Dean helps him dress in fresh clothes. Soon they’re having pancakes, and Sam is grateful as Dean and Cas talk. Laying out the day ahead, taking care of Sam and giving him something else to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been mostly bang writing and posting, as you can probably guess. I hope you don't mind this being a Sam centric chapter, I just seem to be making flashbacks speak mostly from Sam's POV.
> 
> Before writing this chapter today, I had the sense to finally trawl through what I'd written and write up a doc detailing what's happened so far. That way I can finally update without having to read the entire fic in-depth.
> 
> In case you're wondering how my big bang writing and art load is going to affect future updates... I've got my SPN Dystopia Bang fic (Wincestiel) to edit; SPN Case Fic Mini Bang (Sam/Max Banes) to edit and art for another fic to do; Team Free Will Big Bang to finish writing (Wincestiel), and my Dean/Cas Big Bang to write. PLUS I have SPN Poly Bingo that I need to finish before the end of July.
> 
> But with that break down of what's happened so far in Animus written down, it'll be easier to dip in and out of this for fun and work towards having an ending. Basically, I tend to outline chapters ahead of writing, but often change what I'm doing when I do write them, so I was due making a retroactive outline.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this update. Hopefully it won't be over two months before the next update.


	18. Surprises

“I don’t forgive easily, Marv. I’m gonna find my story,” Bela repeats for her editor’s benefit, their call having dropped a second ago. She impatiently taps a pen against the binding of her small red notebook. The memory of being locked in the hospital closet is still very fresh. Sat in a diner in Sioux Falls, beautiful _American Graffiti_ inspired decor surrounding her, Bela does her best to remain a professional, which is difficult when one is talking with Marv Stevens.

“Do you have the damn write up on Innate’s album launch or not?” Marv Stevens hisses down the line.

Sighing Bela, shifts to her laptop that’s perched on a diner table and taps a few keys. The Innate album launch copy goes out her email account and she waits a few seconds.

“Thank you, Bela, _for doing your damn job_.” Marv huffs out a breath and Bela tries not to think about her boss probably sweating away in his L.A. office, AC on low, in order to save on money. “Find your story, Talbot, but don’t forget to file your regular work. Without content there is no site. No advertising. No money. So I need you to _do_ your job.”

Bela rolls her eyes and closes her laptop lid. “Yes Marv,” she drones, not at all repentant, just bored.

“Hey, I don’t need any of your sass. I got a dozen graduates clamoring at my doors, begging me to help give them their big break. Don’t think you can’t be replaced. You can be Bela, and will be if you don’t watch it.”

Bela thinks for a moment how she really needs to just cash in with Marv and get out and do her own thing. Her own classier thing, with fashion reviews, events news and more than just celeb gossip. Yes, Bela likes to dig in deep when there’s clearly a story, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy to work for assholes like Marv.

Sighing again, Bela breaks her silence. “I was not sassing you.”

“Well… Good. Talk soon.” Marv hangs up.

Cell placed carefully on the diner table, Bela flips open her red notebook and crawls through the notes she’s scribbled down in shorthand. Having caught sight of a particularly disheveled Sam Winchester seven nights previously, Bela has been attempting to figure out who the lucky woman is who’s staying at Chateau de Junkyard. So far she’s determined that the redhead who’s coming and going is an old friend, and very gay, but that’s not to say that some other woman hasn’t been smuggled in.

 _Though maybe it’s a guy and that’s why they’re being all secretive, sticking mostly to the house… Not that I can get much out of a gay musician story. Little mileage to be found in something like that, I mean… it’s not like they’re fucking each other_ , Bela chuckles to herself. Though she can’t quite shake the cover art for “Root of Harmony” from her head.

Still there’s another angle to consider, one that’s been bugging her since the launch party for Root of Harmony: something happened between the launch of the first album and that party. The way Sam had been fingering his tattoo has gotten Bela wondering. Especially the way she’s seen Sam subconsciously stroke the inside of his wrist many a time since getting that ink. And she knows that between finishing the last tour and releasing the second album, the only place the three of them spent any significant time in other than Sioux Falls was New York, so that they could record the second album.

And Bela had tracked them everywhere in New York City, short of standing outside their hotel rooms—oh, how she had tried to get that close. _Something happened in Sioux Falls_ , Bela muses as she flips through her notes. She can guess what might have happened, but that in of itself wouldn’t enough to write a story on. The “why” behind Sam’s ink and the scar it was most probably hiding— _that is where the real story is_ , Bela concludes. She snaps her notebook shut and motions for the check.

Bela sets down cash, including a tip, for her food and coffee, keeping her receipt so that she can file it for expenses. Bela’s been so wrapped up in her story hunting that she hasn’t noticed the blue eyed man that’s watching her from a few tables away. He’s sat so that he’s in the blind spots of the diner’s two cameras. Blond hair swept up under a baseball cap, the blue eyed man doesn’t look out of place in his jeans and plaid. In fact if anyone looks out of place in that diner right now, it’s Bela with her crisply fitted gray suit and painfully British accent.

Outside is a normal, overly warm South Dakota summer morning. Bela makes her way towards her rental, juggling her purse and laptop bag. Behind her, the blue eyed man from the diner creeps up, footfall soft and sure. Bela doesn’t get a chance to scream in the lot as the blue eyed man sinks a needle into her neck, injecting her with a fast acting sedative. She manages to gasp and think “what the hell?” before her body goes limp in the stranger’s arms. There’s no one in that corner of the lot, and Bela’s own paranoia means she’s out of view of any cameras.

With practiced movement, the blue eyed man gets Bela into the front passenger seat without raising suspicion. He takes her keys and climbs into the driver’s seat. It takes little for the man to start the engine and pull out of the lot, and head out for the open road.

The man looks over at Bela and then back at the road. “I’m sorry darling, but I just can’t have little ol’ you coming in and stomping over everything. Gotta deadline to meet and you’re not meant to be on this train.”

No one in Sioux Falls or the wider United States will miss Bela Talbot and that’s what the blue eyed stranger is betting on. Bela’s been standing in his way for too long, getting too close to his boys, and once she’s out of the picture, he’ll be able to get the show back on track.

***

The workshop’s a little warmer than Dean would like, but the front doors are wide open and letting in the occasional breeze. He’s alone, laid out on the ancient couch that is meant for any poor soul unfortunate enough in the past to hang with Animus during practice (mostly Charlie). A sketchbook with grid lines is laid out across his thighs, knees bent to create an impromptu slanted drawing board. Pencil poised between his lips, Dean looks over the rough floor plan he’s sketched out on the paper.

Figuring out the first floor layout for their new home is something that Dean is keen to work on. What with the fact that it’s completely unrelated from any of the crap that’s been going on in his wider life. And he also needed some time to himself after helping Sam through the previous day. Yeah—planning for the future seems like a good idea to Dean. And having worked construction while Sam was in college, Dean knows a thing or two about building a home and about planning one.

A part of him wishes he could build it. The foundations, wiring and plumbing would have to be done by professionals, but Dean knows how to erect walls, put in windows, doors, paint—it’s just building the house with his own bare hands would cause Balthazar and Gabriel to have a fit. They only just about let him get away with tinkering around with Baby when he’s home, but building a house these days is out of the question with the kinds of insurance he’s got covering his hands. Sam and Castiel’s digits are also insured.

“You alright, cher?” Benny calls from the open workshop doors. Both Benny and Rudy showed up the previous day, after Sam and Cas had cleaned out the old trailer and aired it out a little.

“Yeah, just doodling.”

“The dream home?”

“The dream home,” Dean repeats. He holds up the sketchbook for Benny, and the taller man ambles over and takes the book.

Benny hums while he looks at the few pages that Dean’s drawn on. “You got a real eye for this,” Benny muses out loud.

“Use to work construction while Sam was in college.”

Benny hands back the sketchbook. “There anything you need from town? Rudy’s gonna do a run with Sam and Cas.”

Tapping his pencil against his lips, Dean thinks. He actually could do with a chance to get off the property for a bit. Sure it feels safe and like home, but Dean’s been going a little stir crazy while they keep things low key.

“I think I’ll come with.” Dean sits up and gets to his feet. His back creaks as he stands, spine audibly popping a little— _okay, maybe laying out on the couch was a bad idea_ —Dean grimaces.

A deep chuckle rumbles out of Benny.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” Dean grumbles, stepping towards the open doors.

“Sure thing, old man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Keep talking like that and I won’t be sharing some of Bobby’s Glenmorangie with you when you’re off duty.”

“Surely it’s up to Bobby whether or not I get to have some of his best scotch?” Benny follows Dean up towards the house.

“It is, when Bobby’s the only one who knows where his good stuff’s at.” Dean opens up the front door to the house and steps in.

“You know, it doesn’t say anything in my contract that I can’t snitch on you…”

Dean stops in the kitchen and turns to Benny. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, cher, there are many things on this Earth I wouldn’t dare do. But watching one Bobby Singer deny you a shot of fine scotch?” Benny grins at Dean, teeth big and white.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Dean stalks through the house, heading upstairs, to go get his baseball cap and sunglasses. Dean reaches the bedroom he shares with Sam and Cas, but finds the bedroom door locked. He knocks on the door.

A stuttered curse sounds through the door and Dean immediately has some idea of what is going on on the other side. Dean waits as the door is unlocked and finally opened. Cas stands in the doorway, bed sheet around his waist and an unassuming smile on his face. _Fuck_ , Dean thinks, trying not to salivate where he stands. A flush creeps up Castiel’s cheeks and Dean can’t deny that seeing his drummer flustered is making him thicken in his pants.

“Uh, thought… thought we were meant to be heading into town,” Dean manages to get out.

Without a word, Cas grabs Dean by the hand and drags him into the bedroom. Dean’s thrust into the room, as the door is locked behind him and he tries to repeat that they’re meant to be heading into town, but instead his eyes can’t leave Sam. And who could blame him for staring.

“Like what you see?” Cas whispers beside Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist and digging his hand into Dean’s hip. The sheet around Castiel’s hips slides to the floor.

Sam is gagged, hands tied to the bed’s headboard, and he’s kneeling. There’s a small pool of something wet on the sheets and Dean looks a little closer and sees the flare of an anal plug filling Sam’s hole. A low buzz tells Dean that the plug is vibrating. Shifting on his feet, Dean catches sight of Sam’s leaking cock heavy between his legs. _Oh fuck._

“Dean?”

Snapping his attention away from Sam, Dean looks to Cas and nods. “Yes… I like what… fuck!” Dean hisses as Cas palms Dean’s already very hard cock through his jeans.

“Isn’t he just so helpless like that?” Cas says loud enough for Dean and Sam to hear.

“Yes,” Dean whispers, eyes on Sam again.

“Louder, Dean.”

“Yes!”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes as Cas pulls Dean’s cock out of his jeans and underwear. His brother moans behind the gag as he sees Cas starting to stroke Dean in earnest. Out of the corner of Dean’s eye he sees something black in Castiel’s free hand and the he realizes it’s a remote. A remote for the vibrating plug in Sam’s ass.

“Let’s play a game,” Cas announces. “It won’t be a very long game, because we can’t keep Rudy waiting… Okay, if Sam comes before you Dean, then… I’m going to spank you and afterwards you’ll be wearing a pair of panties for the rest of the day.

“And if you come before Sam, then Sam will be spanked and caged for the rest of the day.”

Both ideas send rippling jolts of pleasure towards Dean’s now wet tipped cock. He moans as Cas continues to stroke. If Dean spends time in panties with a sore ass, he’s going to find it very difficult to remain coherent and not turned on. It’ll be a similar thing for Sam—and Dean’s now really starting to appreciate the fact that they’re home, because they couldn’t quite play this sort of game easily on the road.

The pressure on Dean’s cock suddenly lets up, but the relief is only temporary. Dean stays still as he watches Cas apply some lube to his right hand and then step back over to him. Safe words, or knocks in Sam’s case, are exchanged and then Castiel’s sweet torture begins.

The buzzing of the anal plug grows louder and louder, Sam’s whole body shakes, as Dean finds it impossible to resist thrusting into Castiel’s hand. Cas is panting right beside Dean’s ear, and Dean knows his lover his hard, would love to be touched or touch himself, but he is focused on the game. Focused on Dean and Sam.

Body tingling all over and legs shaking, Dean is torn between wanting to come and wanting to see Sam have to handle the forfeit. And he would also love to feel Castiel’s hand snapping against his skin, leaving his mark over and over and over...

“Sam,” Dean speaks up, deciding to play dirty, “you look so good filled and gagged. Maybe we should get you an… Fuck...” Castiel’s hand speeds up. “O ring gag. Fill you… from both ends and… and...”

The bubbling tide of pleasure that Dean has been trying to ignore grips him harder, as the buzzing from the other side of the room increases. Sam’s involuntarily humping air now and Dean tries not to think about what it would be like to have Sam buried inside of him. _But maybe I should tell Sam about my idea..._

“Fuck, Sam… wish you were balls deep in me now… But you’d fuck me sloppy and hard—“

A muffled “fuck” is said by Sam, at least that is what Dean thinks his brother’ says. Sam’s hips suddenly stutter as his cock pulses over the bed and his stomach. Cas chuckles low and gives Dean one final tug, making Dean come hotly over Castiel’s hand. Knees going wobbly, Dean almost falls to the floor, but Cas catches him, smearing come over Dean’s jeans.

“Hmmm, clean panties and pants then,” Cas chuckles, setting Dean down on the bed. The vibrator has stopped, and Cas works to untie Sam from the bed and help remove the gag and then the plug. Sam collapses on the bed in a naked heap and Cas makes him drink some water.

“We’re going to be late,” Sam points out, voice hoarse.

“Rudy’ll understand.” Cas pulls Dean back up again, and makes Dean bend so that he’s holding onto the foot of the bed.

Sam’s sat at the head of the bed, eyes on Dean. His brother’s face is flushed, and Dean is about to say something about o rings again, when he feels the slide of Castiel’s hand along his ass. The weight of Castiel’s hand vanishes and then…

THWACK! Dean pitches forward, but remains in place. If he hadn’t just come, he would be getting hard again.

“You gonna count them for me, Dean?” Cas asks. “If you lose count, I’ll have to start again.”

And while Dean may have pushed the odds in his favor only a few minutes ago, he’s not keen on being that sore. “One,” Dean says in a slightly husky voice.

“Good,” Cas praises. Then his hand rushes down again, snapping against Dean’s other cheek.

“Two!” THWACK! “Three!” THWACK! “Four!” THWACK! Cas keeps alternating cheeks, keeping Dean guessing quite where on either he’s going to strike next. He can feel the flesh of his ass warming from Castiel’s strikes, and Dean’s dick twitches in mild interest. He counts five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten—each one harder than the last.

“Eleven… Twelve!” Dean gasps for air. Tears sting his eyes and his whole body vibrates with Castiel’s attention. Then Castiel’s hand comes down again, palm catching closer to his hole. Dean’s dick starts to thicken and he whimpers as he counts yet more strikes. “Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen!”

“Doing—” Castiel’s hand comes down again.

“Sixteen!”

“So good—” Castiel’s hand sings across Dean’s rump.

“Seventeen!”

“Very good...” THWACK!

“Eighteen!”

“For me.” THWACK!

“Nineteen!”

“Isn’t your brother so well behaved, Sammy?” THWACK!

And at hearing Sam mentioned, Dean meets his brother’s eyes again, and sees them blown with lust. A bead of pre-come bubbles out of Dean’s tip and he struggles to count the strike, but manages to gasp out, “Twenty!”

“He’s perfect, Cas,” Sam mutters appreciatively as he watches with rapt fascination. The spanking ends, and Cas is gently rubbing Dean’s rump. Sam crawls across the bed towards Dean, and leans in to kiss him. The kiss is a sweet distraction for Dean, making his throbbing ass feel just that bit less sensitive as Cas carefully sorts him out.

By the time the three of them are all dressed and ready to go out, panties rubbing Dean in all the best possible ways, Dean feels wonderfully calm and relaxed. Though Rudy does throw them filthy looks from the backseat of the Impala when they finally drive into town. They later bribe Rudy with buffalo wings at the Roadhouse.

***

It’s been a while since Castiel last visited the Roadhouse, but the familiar dark wood; classic song selection on the jukebox, and Ellen and Jo’s company are all welcome. Sure it’s a little distracting when he finds himself thinking of the satin pink panties that Dean’s wearing under his jeans; certainly when coupled with the fact that Castiel didn’t come while playing earlier… But Castiel keeps his cool. If only so that he can keep an eye on Dean and Sam.

He feels safer now that Rudy and Benny have returned to them, but Charlie’s research has done nothing to salve his worries. Something is coming, but Castiel just doesn’t know who or what. So he checks out everyone who walks into the bar, or at least the people he doesn’t remember.

The Roadhouse is the kind of place that has a lot of regulars. It’s not the classiest place in town, but it’s one of the most welcoming. Castiel wishes they could stay for karaoke, which is on later that night, but the three of them still aren’t allowed to sing. Voices still recovering from the fire in Kansas City.

“Fancy a game of pool?” Dean asks, breath hot in Castiel’s ear. Having Dean so close to him makes Castiel shiver, his body wanting more than just being close to his lover. _Maybe I should have jerked off before heading out_ , Castiel muses to himself, too late, thinking of Dean’s smooth panties again.

“Sure,” Castiel says more easily than he’s feeling. He gets up from his stool the same time that Sam and Rudy do. The four of them follow Dean over to the pool table, and Sam and Rudy sit down near by.

Dean racks up the balls and Castiel watches with interest as Dean’s hands do everything as if by muscle memory. Once the balls are ready, Dean pulls out a coin and tosses it in the air.

“Heads,” Castiel calls.

The coin lands on Dean’s outstretched palm. “Heads it is. You wanna break or shall I?”

“I’ll break,” Castiel answers, grabbing a cue from the rack on the wall. The wood is smooth in his hands as he lines himself up at the head of the table. He lines the tip of the cue up with the white; pulls his arm back and then it’s like a piston going off as his right hand drives the cue to the white.

The white ball spins the short distance to the racked balls and smacks into them, sending them scattering across the blue cloth of the table. A striped seven goes down.

“Okay, Cas is stripes, I’m spots. Let’s do this!” Dean announces, grinning at Castiel.

The two of them make short work of the game. Dean might have been the one to teach Castiel how to play, but Castiel knew what he was going these days. It’s Castiel who gets all his balls down and then the eight ball—his shots precise, almost perfect. He and Dean use to hustle people at pool for cash in college, but they wouldn’t dare do something like that in the middle of Ellen’s bar.

Game over, Castiel is about to ask Dean for a rematch when he sees Charlie sat at the bar, eying them. “Actually, I need a word with Charlie.”

Before Dean or Sam can say anything, Castiel stalks over to their friend and sits up at the bar.

“Same again?” Ellen calls over to Castiel.

“Please.”

Charlie smiles at Castiel. “Good to see you, Cas.”

“Same.”

“How’s the voice?”

“Still not quite there,” Castiel confesses. Playing along with Charlie’s game of keeping their conversation normal until Castiel has his beer and Ellen’s serving someone else at the other end of the bar.

“Okay,” Charlie begins, “I did some more digging… That kid in the photos?”

“Yeah?” Castiel sips his beer.

“Not Azazel's son. Not biologically at least.”

That is interesting news to hear, and Castiel strums his hands on the bar top. “So… adopted?”

“The records were sealed,” Charlie replies, then sips her cider.

That’s code for “I opened the records and dug where I probably shouldn’t have and found stuff, so yes”—but Charlie is never going to say that out loud.

“Where’s the kid now?”

Charlie shrugs. “Dropped off the face of the Earth once he was adopted. No searches under his name brings up anything…”

“What was he called?” Castiel asks even though he doesn’t have the skills to hunt around for himself.

“Nicolas Smith. But I think his name changed.”

 _Great._ “Any more on The Rebirth?” Castiel drags a finger through the condensation on his beer glass.

Charlie licks her lips and leans in. “Had to talk to an anthropology and mythology professor out at the University of Kansas. But Dorothy said she’d heard something about a Devil worshiping cult from the sixties and seventies that went by that name.”

“Dorothy?” Castiel raises an eyebrow at Charlie.

“She asked me out… anyway, The Rebirth came out of a few members of the Church of Satan being disappointed that the Church of Satan, as headed up by LaVey back in the day, wasn’t about the literal Devil. The Rebirth worships Satan as an actual figure that will one day return and cleanse the Earth.”

Castiel swallows hard and lets out a long breath. “So they’re crazy?”

“Azazel didn’t exactly come across as firing on all cylinders, did he.”

Shaking his head, Castiel looks over his shoulder to check that Dean, Sam and Rudy are still otherwise occupied. Rudy is now playing a game of pool against Dean. Dean grins at Castiel, and Castiel returns the smile.

“His followers are still out there,” Castiel points out, turning back to Charlie.

“I’m trying to find them, but it’s hard. I doubt the FBI is having much more luck than me,” Charlie grumps. The two of them finally conclude their conspiracy talk and head on over to the pool table.

“What were you two talking about?” Sam asks as Dean focuses on trying to turn the tables on the game he’s playing against Rudy.

Castiel licks his lips and smiles. “Just trying to figure out a new approach to the website. Was wondering if maybe we should offer some songs as downloads on it.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam replies in a disbelieving tone. He doesn’t push, but Castiel suspects that Sam knows that something is up.

When it’s time for Dean, Sam, Castiel and Rudy to head back to Bobby’s, Charlie whispers into Castiel’s ear as the two of them hug, “You’re gonna have to tell them eventually.”

***

Sun going down, Sam stares out across the fields near Bobby’s junkyard, a blanket around his shoulders. He’s looking up at the stars that have started to appear and wishing that they were back out on the road. Sam can’t help finding it a little funny that he is wishing to be back out on the open road again, playing concerts. It’s funny because of all that’s happened this time.

Footsteps sound across the dry packed earth behind him, and Sam turns to see Dean and Cas approaching him. They reach him and Dean presses a beer into his hand. Sam can't help when his eyes flick briefly to Dean's crotch before flicking back to Dean's face.

“You alright?” Cas asks, voice filled with concern. It makes Sam’s stomach flutter and he’s glad that it’s too dark to see the blush he can feel warming his face.

“Kinda wishing we were back out on the road again.”

“We’ll be back soon enough,” Dean reassures. His brother gulps down a mouthful of his own beer and the three of them turn their attention to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Yep, retroactive outline is definitely helping me write this more easily now.


	19. Modern Sounds

“C’mon, pick-up,” Special Agent Victor Henriksen mutters as he listens again to the line ringing on his cell. He’s been trying to call Agent Hansom for the past thirty minutes. Hansom’s cell last pinged off a cell tower near his Chicago apartment. The call goes through to voicemail again, but Henriksen hangs up. He’s already left three messages.

Giving up on Hansom’s cell number, Henriksen switches to calling his apartment phone. It rings and rings until the phone system finally cuts off the call. Something isn’t right, Henriksen can feel it. It’s difficult to put his finger on, but it’s a kind of gut feeling—the sort he’s gotten before when there’s a dead body waiting for someone to discover, and a killer in the wind.

The higher ups had been calling for Henriksen to head back to Quantico for the past few days, as the Lawrence farm site was finally wrapped. But now he thinks he needs to go to Chicago, he can’t help shaking the feeling that Hansom’s involvement in Azazel’s demise has finally led to the other agent to draw the ire of the dead man’s cult.

Agent Henriksen calls the Chicago field office and demands they send someone to check in on Hansom. Victor’s half way to the airport when he gets the call. Hansom is nowhere to be found, but there’s signs of a struggle in his apartment.

And blood.

Later that day, Henriksen’s looking over Hansom’s apartment, Special Agent Abner by his side. The two of them are in the living room where apparently Hansom was taken the night before.

“He’s not got much,” Abner points out. Henriksen shares another calculating glance around the living room. There’s a book shelf and a dusty television set. Looking closer at the bookshelves, Henriksen sees titles related to philosophy, religion, profiling—no fiction. And the books look unread, their spines seemingly perfect and uncracked.

 _Okay, so this more than a little weird. Christ, is there anything here we can work off of?_ Victor wonders as he prods at the books on the shelf. A patch of shelf without dust catches Victor’s eye. The patch is the width of the four books beside it. Henriksen snaps on some latex gloves and pulls the books out. There’s a small metal, red box on the shelf—the books have been cut out so that the box fits among their pages, nestling underneath them.

“Well they missed this,” Victor grumbles. The box has a simple lock on it. Victor pulls out his lockpicks and opens the box’s lock. At most he was expecting just a few personal documents, instead Victor pulls out a pile of old photographs.

“Abner...”

Abner peers over Victor’s shoulder. The faces in the photos are familiar, but the photos are different to the ones found stashed on the farm.

“Vic… who’s that?” Abner points a gloved finger at one photo in particular. There’s a blond haired, blue eyed teenage boy smiling back at them, in a faded photograph that looks like it was taken over twenty years ago.

A sick feeling sits at the bottom of Victor’s stomach. Either Hansom has been set up, or he’s with the cult. Neither prospect is fantastic and Victor can already imagine the paper work. Worse still, Hansom might not even be Hansom. He can already hear the deputy director screaming at him over the phone, telling him to make sure the press don’t get wind of any of this.

“You don’t think…?” Abner starts, but doesn’t finish, pulling off his own latex glove to rub frustratedly at his beard.

“I don’t know what to think.”

***

“Do you want pancakes or waffles?” Dean peers over his shoulder at Sam and Cas.

Sam shrugs. “Uh, waffles.”

Cas nods. “Waffles sounds good.”

“Waffles it is.” Dean heads to the pantry and the freezer out there. Sam listens to the sounds of Dean shifting things around, eyes drawn towards the sketches Dean left on the table. It amazes Sam how much Dean’s already managed to plan their new home.

Sighing, Sam gets up from the table and starts pulling out a few things here and there. He fancies blueberry syrup and Bobby has a whole box of berries in the refrigerator. Grabbing the blueberries, Sam looks around the cupboards for sugar, corn starch and almond extract. It’s another lazy morning with nowhere to rush to. The kitchen is familiar and warm, the kind of place Sam had been missing so much while they’d been on tour.

And maybe a part of Sam wants to be heading out on the road, but as he starts to make the syrup, with Dean beside him cooking frozen waffles on the waffle iron, Sam ponders what it’ll mean to have their own place. They can certainly afford it, and he’s grateful for Bobby letting them build by the only home they’ve ever _truly_ known.

 _Maybe I could finally get a dog?_ Sam muses, mushing the blueberries, juicing them up good. A companionable silence settles over the kitchen as Dean and Sam cook, Cas busily checking up on emails via his Blackberry.

“Huh, looks like _Rolling Stone_ wants to do an interview with us,” Cas murmurs, setting his Blackberry down on the table. Sam stands aside as Cas takes over stirring the syrup on the stove. He heads over to Castiel’s cell and picks it up, he reads over the email from Gabriel and then gets up to start a fresh pot of coffee.

_**From** : Gabriel Shurley_

_**Date** : 14 August 2006_

_**Subject** :_

_Hey Castiel,_

_Make sure that Tweedledum and Tweedledee see this._

_Rolling Stone wants you! That’s right. Had a call from their editor last night, begging to do a feature on Animus. I know you’re all laying low—which is fine, we need that. You need the attention, even if it’s not being on tour._

And on, and on the email went, pointing out the virtues of giving an interview.

Grounds and filter changed, Sam ponders Gabriel’s email. Undoubtedly the interview coverage would be good for Animus, and help a resurgence in album sales (or increase illegal downloads). They still hadn’t finalized when they were returning to their tour, but it was at least a month away. Timed right, the interview could do a lot of good for Animus.

“Are we Rolling Stone material?” Dean queries, taking a break from the waffle maker. “I wanna be… but like… that’s… that thing’s global. Bigger than anything Bela managed to wrangle.”

“Gabriel thinks we should do it,” Cas points out, hand still working the syrup spoon on the stove top.

Sam nods. “He would though. It’s part of his job to get us in front of as many eyeballs, and heard by as many ears, as possible. Gabe won’t be happy until the world eats, sleeps and breathes Animus.”

Dean opens the waffle maker. “Dunno if I want the world to eat me… but we should do the interview. Even though it pains me to say that. I’d rather not air our crap, but I’d prefer people heard it from us instead of jumping to hell knows what.”

There’s the sound of the front door opening and Benny calls, “You got enough for us?”

Sam looks to Dean who’s rolling his eyes. “I suppose,” Dean gripes. Without even being asked, Cas troops into the pantry to retrieve more frozen waffles from the last big batch they cooked up.

Benny and Rufus head on in, then Bobby strides in from the living room. Taking one look around the packed kitchen, Bobby shakes his head and steps over to the coffee maker. “Maybe I should build an extension while you three have your house built.”

Taking in Benny and Rufus, Sam notices that Benny’s carrying a toolbox. “You gonna help start work on that extension, then?” Sam asks, motioning to the toolbox, though he knows that it would take more than the tools in the box to build an entire home.

Setting the toolbox down beside the table, Benny dusts off his hands. “Balthazar wants those new cameras installed today.”

“Oh fer...” Bobby looks between Sam, Dean and Cas, a decision seeming to be made. “Fine. You can install them, but don’t you dare point ‘em at the downstairs bathroom. People need to be able to shit in peace.”

Laying out the table for six, Sam can’t find it in himself to complain when he bumps elbows with Cas and Benny once they finally sit down to eat. It is all companionable rather than crowded. The kitchen smells of sweetness and life—it’s perfect.

“I want a dog,” Sam blurts out while Dean is mid-sentence about starting to look for new tour instruments.

All conversation at the table stops. Sam swallows as everyone looks at him, a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“You want a dog?” Dean asks in a “oh god, here we go” voice.

Sam ducks his head. “I want a dog.”

“Dogs slobber.”

“I know.”

“They crap.”

“I know.”

“We’re gonna be on the road a lot of the time.”

Feeling like he was nine again, asking his father for money to go on a school trip, Sam’s face dips lower.

“But,” Cas interjects, “if we got the right dog, one that likes being on the road… Why not?”

Dean huffs a breath and points his fork at Sam. “If you get a dog, it’s not riding in the Impala.”

“Fine. It won’t ride in the Impala.”

“Glad we agree.”

Finishing breakfast, Sam helps clean up while asking Bobby about whether he should get a pound dog or not.

“It’d be a kindness to, if it’s well behaved and likes being driven about,” Bobby wipes dishes while Sam passes clean ones to him.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Sam passes a wet mug to Bobby. “Still, gonna need something to drive around in when I’m here, if the dog’s not allowed in Dean’s car.”

“You can have your own car,” Bobby points out. “Might be nice too.”

A dog. A house. His own car—Sam feels kind of more grown up than when he’d graduated from college. It’s weird to think of such adult, but normal things suddenly being discussed as part of his life. Being on the road with Animus has put them in some kind of bubble, where thinking about these sorts of things seems pointless, but Sam’s finding suddenly that he wants to think further than the next gig. Further than writing down a few song lines in his notebook. Further than buying a new bass.

It feels good.

***

Dean rubs at his his forehead as he sits at the top of the stairs in Bobby’s house, afternoon sun lighting the hall. “Right, so their journalist…?”

“Alicia Banes,” Gabriel provides. Dean can hear a hint of irritation in their agent’s voice, like this is the third time he’s told Dean, but he can’t quite bring himself to be worried. Gabe is the one pushing for the Rolling Stone interview.

“Is gonna be interviewing us at the Wesson Hotel in two days, during the afternoon? And there’s gonna be a photo shoot at a nearby ranch as well? During the morning?”

“You got it.”

Dean rolls his eyes and nods to no one. “Okay, fine. I’ll let Sam and Cas know. There better be some pie-”

“Cherry—you got it.”

 _Like I’m that easy… Dammit_. “They better not put us in suits at any stage.”

“I heard something about rock cowboys.”

 _How original…_ and yet the image that gallops into Dean’s head is one that has him having to stifle a whimper, lest Gabriel hear him over the phone. Cas and Sam all cowboyed up. Boots. Hats. Spurs. Shirts that could make Eastwood swoon. Dean gets himself under control and finally says, “Great.”

“And you better be nice, Dean, this is not Bela Talbot. This is goddamn Rolling Stone magazine.”

“For—I get it, Gabe.”

Gabriel clears his throat. “Oh, and don’t do anything to embarrass yourselves, huh? Or, y’know, cause a national controversy.”

Anger flares inside Dean. “We’re not idiots.”

“You make it hard for me to believe that, sometimes. Just keep it in your pants.”

 _It’s like that asshole can read my mind_. Dean can almost imagine Gabriel’s lips pursed in displeasure. Sure their agent had been pretty understanding, but since the truth had come out to all of their inner circle, Dean knew Gabriel has been fretting about more people—more, less understanding people—finding out the truth about Animus.

“Fine. You done?”

“I’m done.”

Dean doesn’t even bother signing off, he just presses the end call button on his cell and heads down the stairs. Walking into the living room, he finds Cas and Sam pouring over a musical instrument seller’s catalog. It’s been so long since they had to buy anything new, Dean’s not even sure what’s in at the moment in terms of models or brands.

“Yo, maybe we could hit up a store in town?” Dean suggests as he slots in on the couch beside Cas.

Cas hums thoughtfully for a second. “Could work… though security might be an issue. Might give ourselves away?”

“So we ask them nicely… and pay for them to close the store to just us for an hour or two.” Sam sighs and puts the catalog down. He stretches and puts his arms across the back of the couch, left hand brushing Dean’s right shoulder. “I’m sure Balthazar will agree to that.”

Within an hour, Balthazar’s called a store in Sioux Falls on their behalf, and the three of them are being escorted by Benny and Rudy. Dean’s filled them in on the Rolling Stone plan.

“Remember,” Benny warns as they pull up outside the store, “no singing.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Dean gripes, throat already feeling a little sore from a day’s use. He pulls at the plaid he’s wearing, trying to settle it over his shoulders so that it feels right. Giving up on the shirt, Dean makes sure his baseball cap and glasses are fine. Beside him, Cas and Sam go through similar motions—they’re glad the less than savory elements of the press haven’t tracked them down yet.

“Okay, you ready?” Rudy asks. The three of them nod. Rudy and Benny get out of the front of the car, keeping watch as Animus step out of the back of the silver Ford sedan they’d been crowded in the back of.

Walking like it’s just a normal day, and they’re three normal guys who really don’t want their faces being recognized, Dean, Sam and Cas walk into the store behind Rudy, its sign already flipped to “Closed”. Benny closes the door as Rudy greets the store owner.

“Well, boys,” the proprietor of Modern Sounds greets, “look, try. There’s just you five here now.” He’s a balding man in his forties, sleeve tattoos on show with his Who t-shirt. “I’m James. If there’s anything I can do for you—please let me know.”

***

The drum kit shines under the store’s lights. It has polished red sides, with pearl detail here and there alongside chrome. It’s not the drums Castiel lost at the Starlight Theatre, but Castiel has accepted since the fire that he likely won’t find a drum kit like that ever again. He sits at it, sticks in hand and closes his eyes.

Store dropping away, Castiel imagines being on stage in front of a crowd of thousands and starts to pick out a beat, sticks snapping against the skins, pedal beating. The rhythm for “Root of Harmony” pulses from his hands and foot to the drums, filling him, making him long for the stage once more. He might dislike not being home for months at a time, but Castiel loves to bring their musical mass to their fans.

Slowly, Castiel pulls himself back from the music and his session comes to a halt. He opens his eyes and finds Dean smiling at him.

“So, those the ones, then?” Dean asks, biting his lower lip a little.

Castiel looks down at the drum kit in front of him. “Yeah this is it. Where’s Sam?”

Dean looks around as if realizing for the first time his brother isn’t standing beside him. “Uh, must have wandered over to the bass-” As if to prove Dean’s point, a few of the bass chords from Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer” play out over an amp from somewhere behind them.

Sharing a grin with Dean, Castiel leads the way to Sam’s little impromptu cover, and they listen as his fingers flex over the bass guitar’s fretboard and strings. For a second, Castiel wonders if maybe they should think about doing a cover of Trent Reznor’s classic once they’re back on tour—with Castiel doing lead vocals for once. His way of letting the audience know what he really does with Dean and Sam.

Sam looks up from the bass guitar, it’s black body glinting in the store’s lights, and smiles at Dean and Castiel as he stops playing. “I like this one,” Sam greets. There’s eagle wing detail on the body, intricate.

“So,” Castiel says, turning to Dean, “it’s just you now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but leads the way over to the electric guitars. It takes a while for Dean to pick one out, and once Dean’s playing some random chords, Castiel’s attention wanders. He takes in the whole store, eyes looking around, gaze shifting to glance out the windows that face the street. For a few seconds, Castiel feels like he’s being watched, but he can’t see anyone outside.

Shaking his head, Castiel turns to Dean and Sam again, taking in the maple necked masterpiece in Dean’s hands. “So, this one…?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I think I need to try something else. It’s not quite clicking with me. Y’know?”

“There’s no rush,” Castiel reassures. _The store owner’s already getting more than four thousand dollars from us, I think James can wait for us to leave_.

The three of them shift through the electric guitars, Castiel and Sam pointing ones out to Dean. Slowly but surely, they whittle their way through the guitars, but Castiel continues to only pay half a mind to the proceedings. His gaze keeps drifting out beyond the front of the store. People and traffic pass by—nothing seems out of place. He knows Rudy, Benny and James are keeping an eye on them, but it feels like someone else is watching them in that store.

Just as Castiel thinks he’s getting too paranoid, a rotary stand of score books suddenly tilts over and smacks down to the smooth floor. Score books spill across the varnished wood, and Castiel is by Dean and Sam within a blink of an eye, body between them and whatever threat it might be.

“Dammit, Chuck!” James cries running over to the corner of the store they’re in along with Benny and Rudy. A dark haired labradoodle stands between Castiel and James.

The dog gives Castiel a shy look, and before anyone else can say anything, Sam dodges past Castiel and kneels on the floor beside the dog.

“Awww, you didn’t mean to do that, did ya Chuck?” Sam asks in a goofy voice, petting the labradoodle’s curly haired head. The dog barks and leans forward to lick Sam’s face, clearly enjoying being fussed over.

Castiel shakes his head. Rudy and Benny help James to pick up the score books and Castiel watches over Dean as he tries out a few more guitars. But at no point does Castiel tell himself he’s being irrational. _Azazel’s followers are still out there, including that Nicolas Smith_ , Castiel muses, _though Chuck clearly isn’t one of the followers_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't want to know how many bangs I'm signed up to right now...
> 
> But I posted a timestamp for Animus last month, called [First Date](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628009), about Dean, Cas and Sam's first date - so if you haven't checked it out, you might want to do that ;)


	20. Ride 'em, Cowboy

“We should have asked for more eyes today,” Rudy murmurs as Dean, Sam and Cas are led around a sandy paddock. The mares they’re riding are well behaved, docile creatures—Balthazar had shot down any talk of the three of them taking on stallions for the shoot. The three of them are in full cowboy gear.

“Who would we trust, hmm?” Benny asks just loud enough for Rudy.

And Rudy knows Benny’s point is well made. They knew each other, had done for a long time. Watching each other’s backs as they had been for the first time in years, it was clear neither had a bone in them to betray the men they were charged with protecting. Regardless of the love their charges profess for each other.

Rudy scratches at his beard. “We just have to be five men, rather than two,” Rudy suggests.

“I’d like to see that,” Meg smirks. She pulls herself up on the wooden fence around the paddock, sitting between Benny and Rudy. “It’ll give a girl ideas.”

Benny chuckles and Rudy shakes his head, but neither of them relents on their watch. This whole day is the most risk Animus has taken since the fire in Kansas City, and Rudy just wants it to go smoothly.

“Anything to report?” Balthazar calls from behind. Still, the two of them don’t turn to look at the manager.

“Other than Dean asking about whether we can go find a bar with a mechanical bull later? Not a thing,” Benny reports.

“Thank fuck,” Balthazar sighs out and gets up on the fence to sit to Rudy’s left. Though Rudy finds it nice to be working with Meg and Balthazar again, Rudy really misses Garth. They had a game of chess they still needed to finish, packed up on a magnetic board on the tour bus.

“I hope it goes without saying: don’t take Dean to find a mechanical bull later. He breaks anything, this tour is never getting resurrected.” Balthazar crosses his arms.

“Right,” Benny answers with a tone that suggests that Dean will do what he damn well pleases, they all know that—why pretend otherwise? Rudy knows that Benny’s main concern will be to make sure no one else hurts the boys.

The four of them continue to watch Animus in silence. Rudy knows Balthazar, Meg and Benny are wary, eyes darting about the paddock and surrounding landscape, plains of grass stretching out on three sides. The weight of Rudy’s handgun under his suit jacket is a reassuring presence—both he and Benny are packing.

“Think they’re wearing enough sunscreen with all that make up?” Meg asks to no one in particular. The noon day sun is almost upon them, and while the threat of more of Azazel’s followers coming out of the woodwork isn’t to be ignored, neither is the prospect of skin cancer.

Without another word, Balthazar bounces into action, sliding off the fence and heading to the photographer—a guy named Max Banes, who Rudy has heard is the twin to the journalist interviewing the boys later.

Dean is trying to lasso a post in the ground, but gets Sam instead and that’s when Max calls for a break. Benny and Rudy take it as their cue to head on over, and keep an eye on whoever heads into the small pavilion that’s been set up by the paddock. Meg follows.

The make up artist and Meg fuss over the boys, while Rudy watches from the back of the pavilion and Benny stands near the entrance. There’d been some talk of teaching the boys how to defend themselves, in case someone made a move again, but Balthazar is worried about them breaking wrists or fingers and being unable to play. A legit worry when Dean, Sam and Castiel are the reason you get paid, _but it won’t mean jack shit if something serious happens to them._

Under the shade of the pavilion, Rudy tries to think of someone else they could bring in to help them get a handle on things. But there really are few people he’d trust with Animus’s safety as well as the secret they all must keep. It’d just take the wrong individual to think that being paid off to talk to Bela Talbot was worth trashing the band, and everything would be ruined.

Balthazar draws level with Rudy, a can of diet soda in hand. Rudy clears his throat. “Sir, perhaps we should get the boys self-defense training?”

Turning to face Rudy, Balthazar rolls his eyes at him and crosses his arms against his chest. “Not this again.”

“C’mon, you have to admit that after all that’s happened, we need to do more to protect them.”

“They have you and Benny.”

“We can’t go everywhere with them.”

Balthazar fiddles with the ring on his soda can, his gaze downcast. “I know.”

“How about after the shoot, we talk about it?”

Balthazar meets Rudy’s eyes. “Fine.”

Before Rudy can say anything else, Balthazar hurries off. Turning his attention back to the boys, Rudy watches the make up artist and Meg finish up with them. They put their waters down and share a few discrete touches that would mean nothing unless you knew what was going on.

Max calls from outside the pavilion, “Okay, let’s try the lasso again. I think we almost had it.”

The party moves and Rudy follows, senses straining for any sign of trouble while his gaze sweeps up and down the paddock once more. He settles beside a fence opposite to Benny, the wilderness at his back.

“Right, so Dean, I think you’ve got it with the rope, so, how about you stand here,” Max asks, switching to a spot that’s halfway between Benny and Rudy, “and Sam and Castiel, you two stand here.” Max powers over to a spot that is about thirty feet away from Dean.

“What, like this?” Sam asks, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Cas.

Max looks thoughtful, finger tapping his bottom lip. “Hmmm, no. I’m thinking more like your album cover—more _together_.” Without warning, Max touches Sam and Cas, deft hands shifting the two men so that Castiel is wrapped in Sam’s arms. The pose is intimate and at odds with the cultural signals their cowboy gear indicates.

Sam looks down to Cas, licking his lips and Rudy can feel the restraint that the two men are having to show. Rudy’s unsure if Max sees this.

Max looks from Sam and Cas to Dean, finger tapping his lip again. He stops and holds that finger up. “I got it! Assless chaps!”

Cas whispers something to Sam, and Rudy watches the younger man’s cheeks go beet red. Dean starts laughing.

“Oh my, god! You’re serious?!” Dean laughs out, bending over, wheezing as he laughs.

“Pretty sure we have some in wardrobe. And if you’re not tanned down there, I’m sure there’s plenty we can do in Photoshop.”

They were all gonna get an eyeful.

***

 _Hell is relative_. That is Castiel’s conclusion as he stares at Sam and Dean’s asses being perfectly framed by matching assless leather chaps. The topless upper view isn’t half bad either. Their chaps are a deep brown, while Castiel’s are more on the tan side of things. He wants to make their ass cheeks red and suckle at the smarting flesh.

But he can’t. Not while he’s in the middle of a photo shoot. _Will wardrobe notice if the chaps never make it back? Surely Rolling Stone have lost worse?_ It’s Castiel’s first time seeing the brothers’ asses on display and being unable to do anything about it. Constantly trying to think of other things means that Cas keeps missing Max’s instructions, but it’s either that or sport a hard-on in front of everyone, because the leather over their crotches on the front of the chaps leaves little to the imagination.

Cas is pretty sure he won’t be able to make it through the interview that’s meant to be happening after lunch, unless he gets his hands on his boys—and soon.

Max pulls Castiel into Sam’s arms again, and tilts their heads so they look like lovers gazing into each other’s eyes. Castiel aches to show the world that they are lovers, but he wouldn’t want to leave Dean out. _And_ , he supposes, _wouldn’t want to get the rumor mill going. Though the press will probably have a field day with these pics_.

Instead Castiel waits and does as he’s told. Max’s camera shutter clicks a half dozen times and Castiel focuses on his breathing instead of Sam’s ass. But there’s a lasso around them, pulling them together and all it would take is for his hand to slip. _It would just be an accident…_ But despite the temptation, Cas keeps his hand above Sam’s cheeks.

A few more minutes and finally the three of them are free to get into the clothes they arrived in. They’re left alone in the living room of the ranch house, where all the costumes had been brought in and where their own clothes had been left. Benny and Rudy are waiting outside the room and the door’s closed.

Castiel heads to Sam first. He grabs at the sides of Sam’s arms and pulls him in, kissing him hungrily, hands quickly slipping from Sam’s arms to the smooth cheeks of his ass. He gets a handful and squeezes, making Sam moan into his mouth, as he kneads the flesh there. Breaking away from Sam’s mouth, he moves down his chest, tongue finding Sam’s right nipple and swirling over it.

“Fuck,” Dean moans from behind Cas.

Turning his face from Sam’s chest to look behind him, Castiel sees Dean playing with himself as he watches the two of them. Castiel gets a thoughtful look on his face as he considers the short amount of time the three of them have and their limited resources. He steps back from Sam.

“Get over there and brace yourselves,” Castiel orders, pointing at the one section of wall that doesn’t have clothes rails pushed right up against it.

“Yes, sir,” his two lovers acknowledge in unison. Castiel watches in delight as Sam and Dean hurry over to the wall and brace themselves against it, pushing their asses out as their hands lay flat on the pale blue wall.

Gently stepping over, Castiel hums his approval at the sight before him—his two lovely boys waiting for him, firm cheeks framed perfectly by the assless chaps. “You’re both so beautiful.”

He stops beside Dean, strokes a hand tenderly over Dean’s warm skin. “Color?”

“Green,” Dean and Sam report together.

One more stroke down and then Cas pulls his hand away. There’s little warning for Dean as Castiel tenses his palm just so and then sends it cracking hard against Dean’s waiting flesh. SLAP, SLAP, SLAP on the left cheek and then SLAP, SLAP, SLAP on the right—Dean trembling and low key whimpering. It doesn’t matter that Castiel is tenting the little fabric afforded the front crotch area of the chaps—he has to help his boys first.

“Perfect,” Castiel says in a low voice. His hand lightly strokes over the flaming skin of Dean’s cheeks.

Pulling away, Castiel rubs his palms together, getting his right hand ready to go again. He stands behind Sam, and glides his hand over Sam’s waiting ass. “I wanted to show them, Sam, wanted to show them what you do to me. What we are,” Cas confesses, hand kneading at Sam’s ass again, making the blood flow increase. “But at least I can leave my mark now.”

Whereas Dean’s slaps had been hard, the ones Castiel rains down over Sam’s cheeks will make it difficult for him to sit for at least a day. Tilting his hand and tensing it just so, Castiel smacks Sam over and over, making his skin sing.

Finishing, Castiel kneels down behind Sam and licks at the hot red flesh of his cheeks, soothing the skin there. Sam moans above him, hips swaying a little—Cas is well aware of what state the three of them are in. And he really wants to take the assless chaps with them, but he’ll just see about trying to buy some later. _Don’t need anyone getting suspicious_.

“Take everything off,” Castiel orders in a slightly shaky voice as he works his own hands at the chaps and boots he’s got on. It takes a few minutes, but finally all three of them are naked, hard-ons pointing towards their stomachs.

Time is their enemy. Too soon there will be a knock on the door, reminding them to hurry it up. But there’s no way they have the time to get away with much more. Castiel licks his lips and then gets up in Sam and Dean’s space. Without warning, he grabs both of their hard leaking lengths and starts to stroke. Getting with the plan, the brothers both get a hand on Castiel’s cock and work him together.

“C-Cas!” Dean whimpers, body shaking.

“Mmmmmnnhh...” Sam moans body also shaking.

“P-perfect!” Castiel hisses, speeding his hands up and the brothers do the same. There’s a knock on the door.

“Five minutes!” Benny shouts through the door.

Castiel whines in frustration, but it’ll have to do. “C’mon, come for me. Come.” Castiel orders, voice rough with want as his own balls start to tighten. “Come!”

And with stuttering cries, Sam and Dean spill over Castiel’s hands and his stomach. It’s enough for Castiel and he lets out a wordless cry as he shoots at Sam and Dean—marking them. Catching their breath, there’s a moment where Castiel’s legs feel a little like jello and then Dean’s moving into action.

Finding wipes, Dean cleans everyone up and then tracks down their clothes. The three of them share kisses as they get their usual Animus outfits on. All dark jeans, dark shirts and heavy boots.

“You’ve had ten minutes!” Benny shouts through the door. “I’m coming in now.”

Before Benny can open the door, Castiel pulls it open and gives their bodyguard a grateful smile. “It’s fine, Benny, we’re ready to go.”

***

The Wesson Hotel is what Dean would call “clean rancher” meets futurists. Minimal design, but with little details, like cow skulls, or strips of hide here and there. Dean’s starting to feel like he’s not going to be able to watch a Clint Eastwood film ever again, unless he wants to be sporting wood. But at least it’s nice.

Dean, Sam and Cas are sandwiched by Benny ahead of them and Rudy bringing up the rear. In some ways, the interview for _Rolling Stone_ is going to be easier than other recent ones, because there isn’t a huge live audience involved. But Dean still feels a little antsy, because all the drama from the tour will probably be brought up. Perhaps the only saving grace would be that they probably wouldn’t be asked about the darker tone of their second album.

Balthazar had received an email from Gabriel during the earlier photo shoot, telling Animus to say they’d be back on the road in two weeks. Having that deadline all of a sudden in front of them had helped to add to Dean’s unease. He knew that he needed to get back in the saddle. That hiding would do nothing about his anxiety over touring, but he wanted to push the date back. Wanted to stay away from the road until everything with Azazel’s followers has been resolved.

“Here we are, penthouse suite,” Benny announces. He knocks on the door.

There is movement behind the door and then a young woman with dark bouncing hair and a tight black t-shirt and jeans opens it. “Hey there, I’m Alicia Banes, you must all be Animus. Come in, come in.” Alicia steps back. “Max already texted me to say the shoot went well.”

“It was certainly different,” Dean offers as he walks in. Sam’s close to his right side and Cas is like a scout, heading in ahead of them alongside Benny. Dean watches Cas give the room an appraising sweep and then he seems to relax a little, standing down.

“Please, make yourself at home.” Alicia heads over to what’s clearly meant to be her seat. “Thanks again for agreeing to this interview.”

 _So, we’re safe for now_ , Dean guesses, leading Sam to a comfortable armchair that’s in the circle of seats clearly arranged for the interview. There’s a low coffee table filled with little quiches, salad and sandwiches and other edible snacks. Plus a whole cherry pie. Dean’s stomach growls at the sight, reminding him that he hasn’t had lunch yet.

The three of them sit down, Dean and Cas on either side of Sam. An audio recorder sits on a little tripod on part of the coffee table and Alicia has a notebook resting on her lap. Pen at the ready, Alicia waves her free hand at the food. “Dig in, it’s just gonna go to waste otherwise.”

Sam leans in and grabs a paper plate, putting a few things on it, then Dean and Cas do the same. Plates full, the three of them sit back as sodas are also fetched. Dean’s about to go for grape, but there’s too many associations with the flavor for him—so he has cola instead.

Once everyone has what they want, Alicia clears her throat. “I heard there was a bit of horsing around at the ranch this morning?”

Dean licks his lips and winks. “Oh, no more than usual. And by the way, your brother is waaaaay into our asses.”

Alicia smirks. “I’m sure our readers will appreciate his appreciation… So, “Root of Harmony” is killing it in the charts both here and in the UK. Are you all surprised at how well the album’s doing?”

Sam shrugs nonchalantly. “We only ever set out to make great music. If everyone else is realizing that’s what we’ve done, then that’s fantastic. Our music is meant to be heard.”

“That must be really difficult though, people hearing your music, when you’ve had to put your tour on hold?”

Straightening up in his seat, Cas gives Alicia a polite smile. “It’s been for the best. Our voices haven’t quite finished recovering yet after the events in Kansas City, which we’d love to discuss in more detail, but the investigation is ongoing.”

“Oh, I understand.” Alicia taps on her notebook and asks, “Did the three of you always want to be musicians?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but we did all graduate from college...” Dean picks up a mini sandwich from his plate. There’s at least ham in it. “So I suppose we were always making backup plans, in case being in a band didn’t work out. And even though there’s been a few bumps this year—we’re musicians and we’re gonna keep being musicians.”

Cas nods. “I don’t think anyone who enjoys making music ever thinks they want to be a musician—they just wanna play what their heart tells them to play. And they hope someone will care enough to listen.”

The questions keep coming and they take turns in answering. Alicia asks whether they are working on a third album yet and if they have any plans to tour in Europe next year. These are the sorts of questions that Dean’s grateful to have Castiel’s levelheadedness around for.

Once the interview is finally over, they tuck into the lunch in earnest, someone serves Dean some of the cherry pie and everything seems fine. Alicia digs, but not too deep and hopefully the three of them will keep their record company happy with what they said.

Finally leaving the Wesson Hotel, Dean’s looking forward to chilling with Cas and Sam, a couple of beers in hand, and just sticking something on the TV. The day’s the closest they’ve had to a working day in a fair while. A nap even sounds like a good idea.

“Hey guys,” Dean asks from between Cas and Sam as they sit in the backseat. Benny’s driving. “Think I could go for a nap.”

“It’s at least thirty minutes until Bobby’s,” Cas says in a low voice. He wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “You can get some shut eye here, if you want?”

“Sounds good.”

Castiel’s touch helps anchor Dean. Sam’s hand strokes soothing circles into the top of Dean’s as finally he drifts off to sleep.

***

A round of beers and Bobby’s exceptionally saucy ribs later and everyone’s just chilling in the den, TV on, some random episode of _Doctor Sexy_ playing. Dean’s curled up against Cas, napping and Sam thinks the two of them look adorable as he gets up to go grab another bottle of beer.

It’s getting dark out and Sam peers out the kitchen window as he opens the refrigerator. Something shifts out around outside—a shadow bigger than a raccoon. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sam closes the refrigerator door, leaving a beer on the counter, and heads on outside, grabbing a flashlight from the hallway.

“Hello?” Sam calls, shining the light around the old cars that make up the body of Singer Salvage.

He doesn’t stray far from the front door. Light swishing around left and right. “Hello?” he calls again.

“Hey there!” a familiar voice answers back and Agent Hansom steps out from the shadows. The agent’s blue eyes shine in the beam from the flashlight and he greets Sam with a warm smile, casually pushing a hand through his short blond hair. Only the other man’s gray suit suggests he has any real reason for being there, hinting at his FBI background.

“Agent Hansom. It’s a bit late for a house call,” Sam greets neutrally. The last thing he wants to be thinking about after such a good day is the FBI investigation into Azazel’s cult. But also: _what is an agent from the Chicago field office doing in the middle of Sioux Falls?_ A shiver runs down Sam’s spine.

Hansom nods in agreement, but continues approaching. “We had a breakthrough.”

“Oh?” Sam takes a small step back towards the house.

“Yeah. We think we know who’s been pulling Azazel’s strings. Tracked them to South Dakota. Worried of course that they might be making a move against you.”

 _How stupid does he think I am?_ Sam pats his back pocket, finding his cell. He takes another step back. His boot hits the bottom step to Bobby’s house.

 _Need to do something…_ “Hey, Dean, Cas, Bobby! Agent Hansom’s here!” Sam shouts over his shoulder.

He hears floorboards creaking behind him, Bobby, Dean, Benny and Castiel’s voices muted by the walls.

And then Agent Hansom lunges towards Sam, strong hands grabbing Sam and twisting him around, fastening his left arm over Sam’s throat. A loaded metal click and a cool weight to the side of his right temple tells Sam that he’s fucked.

Benny wrenches the wooden door open, spilling out first, gun in hand. Bobby, Dean and Cas are hot on Benny’s heels. The four men halt at the sight, light spilling out from the house, framing them. Fear snakes through Sam and he prays he’s not about to die.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Dean barks. There’s fear and pure fury in his brother’s eyes, and Sam prays that no one does anything rash. In contrast to Dean, Cas looks scarily serene.

“Sir, put down the gun,” Benny orders in a level voice.

“He will join us. He will cleanse us. He will glorify us. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him!” Hansom spouts, voice sing-song fanatical. He steps backwards, pulling Sam with him. “Don’t follow us.”

And they really can’t. Using him as a human shield, Hansom drags Sam deeper into the junkyard, past old wrecks and hunks of metal that won’t stir anymore. He struggles, against Hansom’s hold, but Hansom just squeezes tighter on his throat, making Sam’s head lighter, his vision going darker.

He hears shouting, but it’s far away and then a gun fires. Sam slips into unconsciousness before he can do anything.

Sam doesn’t know how much time has passed while he finally awakes. Throat throbbing, he opens his eyes to find he’s in a basement, naked bulb burning overhead and a heavy iron cuff around his ankle. The cuff is attached to a chain that’s secured by a bolt to the concrete floor.

“Ahem.”

Sam looks around and his eyes land on a disheveled Bela Talbot. There’s dried blood matting her hair, caked around the left side of her forehead and a deep bruise around her right eye socket suggests that she’s been punched hard enough to break bone.

“B-Bela?” Sam croaks out.

Bela gives him a smile that's missing a couple of teeth. “I don’t suppose... you’ve got time for an interview, have you... dear Sam?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuuuuuuuuuuu... we're into the end game, everyone. We have a few chapters left to go.
> 
> I'm still hoping to have this particular story finished by the end of the year.
> 
> I've got some art commissioned from sketchydean that's going to be included in the final chapter, which I think you're all gonna love.
> 
> As ever, I'll see you in the comments.
> 
> (And I can't remember who suggested assless chaps - but thank you!)


	21. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got some canonical character death in this chapter. It isn't anyone major.

There’s a roaring sound in Castiel’s ears. It’s been there the past ten minutes as he holds Dean’s plaid shirt to Benny’s chest. People are talking over him, but he’s not listening. A part of him is telling him to call Charlie, to get any information she has on Hansom so he can go after the son of a bitch. But the sensible part that’s winning out right now is telling him to stay with Benny and make sure the man, his friend, doesn’t die.

“Stay with me. It’s gonna be fine. C’mon, Benny...” Cas keeps repeating, over and over—how long has he been talking to Benny as they wait for an ambulance?

Benny smiles and hums, pain writ clear on his face. He’s coherent and alive, but Cas is trying to ignore how pale his face looks in the light from Bobby’s porch.

Red, white and blue lights finally flash over the scene and the roaring in Castiel’s ears gives way to Dean calling the medics over to Benny. A female medic takes over from Cas and Dean leads him away, back onto the edge of the porch.

“We need to find Sam,” Dean says in a gruff voice.

“Charlie, we need to call Charlie,” Castiel manages, tongue thick in his mouth.

A police car pulls up near the house, and Cas watches from the corner of his eye as two officers head over to Bobby and Rudy.

Dean grabs the front of Castiel’s t-shirt and hauls him close. “What the hell has Charlie got to do with any of this?!”

“She’s been researching the cult for me, seeing if there’s anything the FBI’s been missing.”

“Well thanks for sharing with the rest of the class,” Dean snarls. And even though Castiel can understand that this is Dean’s fear and frustration talking, Dean’s tone hurts as he lashes out.

Grabbing Dean’s wrist, Castiel squeezes him tight. “We need to get Sam back.”

Dean seems to regain some of his composure. The anger fades and is replaced with fear. He looks so young and lost. Cas pulls Dean closer and kisses his forehead. “Come on.”

The two of them walk back into Bobby’s house, behind them they hear Rudy talking to Agent Henriksen on his cell, and the medics sound like they have Benny in hand—the cops are calling to dispatch. Cas ignores it all and heads for his own cell in the living room.

He grabs his cell and brings up Charlie’s number. Within three rings she answers, worry already clear in her voice. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

Cas had forgotten how late it is. _No wonder she already knows something is up_. “Agent Hansom is with The Rebirth and he took Sam.”

“Fuck, Cas!” Charlie cries. “Okay, okay, I’ll come over with everything I’ve got.”

A young boy with blond hair and blue eyes flashes across Castiel’s memory. “What if Hansom is Nicolas Smith!”

Cas turns to Dean, and Dean mouths “Who?”.

“Fuck,” Charlie replies. “Right, well. We’ll work on that theory once I’m over. Gimme thirty… We’re gonna get Sam back, Cas.”

“Yeah, I know,” Castiel says, voice level, shock giving way to anger. He hangs up and before he can say anything, Dean wraps his arms around Castiel and holds onto him tight.

***

“We’re doing everything we can,” Henriksen reassures over the line.

Bobby gives an almost audible grunt and asks, “You flying out here?”

“Just about to get on a jet. The local field office will have someone with you soon. I believe Sheriff Jody Mills is also en-route… How’s Mr Lafitte doing?”

Pulling a beer out of his refrigerator, Bobby looks at the bottle and puts it back, heading for his coffee maker instead. “He’ll survive. Bastard winged him, but it’ll take a lot more than that to put Benny out of action.”

“Okay, I need to go. If you hear anything, if-”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Of course I damn well get it.”

“And don’t call John.”

 _John?_ Bobby fidgets with a paper filter, rubbing the sides together, but he takes too long to reply.

“I mean it, Singer, don’t call John Winchester.”

It’s not like Bobby enjoys speaking with John, but he’s conflicted about not telling him his youngest son has been taken—again, and on his watch at that. But Bobby knows better than anyone how much of a wild canon John can be.

“Fine, but you better be ready to tell him somethin’ if he does call.”

“Of course,” Henriksen replies smoothly. “And don’t you do anything stupid either.” Henriksen hangs up.

Bobby stows his cell and shakes his head. He takes a look around his kitchen, ears picking up for the sounds drifting from around the house. Charlie, Cas and Dean are holed up in Bobby’s study. Rudy’s patrolling outside, shadow passing by windows as he walks. No one’s gonna be getting any sleep tonight.

Coffee maker set-up, Bobby’s about to take a seat at his kitchen table when he hears a knock at the back door.

“Bobby, Sheriff Mills and Agent Scott,” Rudy calls through, and Bobby’s greeted by one friendly, familiar face and a stranger’s.

Agent Scott’s dressed in a gray pant suit, long light brown hair pulled back behind her head in a bun. “Mr Singer,” Agent Scott holds out her hand, and Bobby stands to hake it. “I trust Special Agent Henriksen has already spoken with you?”

“Yes he has.” Bobby motions to the coffee pot on the side. “Coffee?”

Both women say yes and sit at the table. Bobby works on the coffee while they talk.

“We got road blocks in place. And we got them in pretty fast. No way he’s left the county. We’re co-ordinating with adjacent counties, but Sam’s not going far, Bobby, I can tell you that.” Jody gives Bobby a warm smile. “We’ll bring him home.”

Agent Scott nods in agreement. “Local, state and federal are working together on this. I’ve been told that you were Sam Winchester’s legal guardian while he was a minor?”

“Raised him and his older brother, Dean. Why?”

“Just trying to get a feel for things that’s all. And just to check: you don’t believe his biological father is involved?”

Bobby chuckles. “Henriksen ruled him out, and I’m with him. John can be a stubborn son of a bitch, and _damn_ thoughtless at times, but he wouldn’t be involved in whatever madness is going on with Hansom.”

“And what madness would that be?”

Bobby shares a glance with Jody and sets their mugs of coffee down on the table. “Said some nonsense when he took Sam. Something about, “He will join us. Cleanse us. Glorify. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him.””

Jody shakes her head and then takes her coffee towards the back porch, radio in her other hand. “Call me if you need anything… Dispatch...” The door swings and now it’s just Bobby and Agent Scott.

“It’s a cult, ain’t it?” Bobby blows on his coffee and takes a sip.

“Henriksen’s notes indicate that. Did Hansom give any sign of where he was taking Sam?”

“No.” Bobby sips his coffee, thoughtful. “But I wonder if he’s been watching the boys since they got here. Been things moving around in my yard of late that I thought was just the boys horsing around, but...”

“Thank you, I’ll start making some calls.” Agent Scott stands up, coffee in hand and heads out after Jody.

 _You better find my boy._ Bobby drinks, fear churning in his gut.

***

“The Rebirth want, what?” Dean pushes a hand through his hair, head hurting from panic, fear and anger. They’re in Bobby’s study, past the living room, trying to figure out this mess. The calm he’s forced himself to feel is fast wearing out with nothing to do.

“Satan walking among us. Hell on Earth—fun times for all the family,” Charlie explains. Dean looks back at the photos on her laptop and when he looks at the blond haired kid in them, he can see a bit of Hansom about him. “Complete baloney, of course—but they’re willing to kill people, so you kinda have to take them seriously.”

“And this kid here, Nicolas Smith, is Agent Hansom?”

“As far as we’ve been able to determine, yes.” Castiel fidgets with a hole in the right knee of the old jeans he’s wearing. There’s dried blood on his hands—Benny’s blood. But Dean doesn’t tell him to go wash up.

“Fucking hell,” Dean swears. _But where do we even start? Jody’s people are looking for Sam, so’s the FBI._ “Do the FBI know about Hansom’s past?”

Charlie nervously licks her lips. “I sent a tip-off through some of my channels. Henriksen should have put two and two together by now.”

“I can’t stay here. This isn’t Chicago.” Dean rises to his feet. “I’m gonna go look for Sam.”

Cas gets to his feet beside him. “If you go, I go.”

The two men look to Charlie, she grins nervously and closes her laptop lid, pulling an Ethernet cable from the laptop’s side. “Well, someone’s gotta keep an eye on the two of you.”

Dean creeps through the study, and the living room, heading towards the kitchen doorway. He hears people talking. Staying out of sight, Dean peers in, listening to Bobby talking to whom he assumes is an FBI agent, considering her pants suit versus Jody’s usual uniform.

“Henriksen’s notes indicate that. Did Hansom give any sign of where he was taking Sam?” asks the female agent.

“No… But I wonder if he’s been watching the boys since they got here. Been things moving around in my yard of late that I thought was just the boys horsing around, but...”

Dean steps away quietly, and heads back towards Cas and Charlie. “Maybe he’s not taken Sam far,” Dean whispers. There’s movement from the kitchen, but no one comes towards the study.

“Oh?” Cas prompts.

“Yeah, Bobby thinks someone’s been moving crap around the yard, only he first thought it was us, but now...”

Charlie sits down, plugs the Ethernet back in her laptop, opens it up and starts typing. “He’ll need somewhere isolated… Like a farm.”

“Farm foreclosures,” Cas suggests.

Within two minutes, Charlie has three potential addresses within thirty minute’s drive of Singer Salvage. She types some more, sending a printout to the printer in Bobby’s study.

Cas catches Dean’s eye. “There is the minor detail that Hansom has a gun and we don’t.”

Clearing his throat, Dean ducks his head. “I got my carry permit a ways back… I got a little something in Baby’s trunk.”

He feels Cas stiffen more than sees it. Dean looks up to find his boyfriend glaring at him. Cas purses his lips. “Thanks for sharing with the class,” Cas throws at him.

 _I deserved that._ “There’s a map in the Impala,” Dean points out as they gather themselves together to sneak out through the front door.

Dodging around Rudy’s patrol, the three of them make it to the Impala and pile in—Charlie in the back, Dean and Cas up front. Dean starts the engine and slips Baby into drive. The car peels out of the yard like a bullet and in his rear view mirror, Dean can see the FBI agent, Jody, Bobby, and Rudy yelling after them.

They hit the highway and Dean asks Cas to direct him to the nearest property. It takes them ten minutes to reach it, the place within any roadblocks that may have been set up.

Castiel’s cell starts to buzz in his pocket. He pulls the device out. “It’s Bobby.”

“Answer it.” Dean sighs.

“Bobby?” Cas starts.

There’s angry cursing on the other end of the line that even Dean can faintly hear. Cas pulls the cell away from his ear a little as Bobby chews Cas out. It takes a minute before there’s any space for Cas to say something in return.

“We’ll tell you if we find him.”

More angry words.

“I promise we won’t approach Hansom unless we think Sam’s life is in immediate danger.”

Cas nods. “Of course.” He hangs up and stows his cell. “Bobby is pissed.”

“You think?” Charlie chimes in from the back.

Cas checks the map and looks at the road, thinking. “Should be the next turning on the right.”

The first farm turns out to be a dud, but they are back on the road fast. Driving within the road blocks Jody has set up beyond the limits of Sioux Falls.

_We’ll save you. I promise._

***

Life on the farm had been difficult at times, but Nicolas had always felt wanted, loved. His father, because there was no more fitting word for him, had been kind and clear: Nicolas has a path to walk and he must walk it.

He is here to bring what the world needs, even without the guidance of his father. His family will hold him up. Be his fist.

Nicolas stares into Ruby’s soulful eyes. “Is everyone here?”

Ruby strokes Nicolas’s cheek and starts to help him out of his suit jacket, helping him remove all vestiges of being Agent Hansom. “Nearly. The roadblocks aren’t worried about who’s coming in.”

Looking out a window in the empty living room, Nicolas observes the full-moon outside. Tonight is the night. They won’t get another opportunity like it for some time.

Tender fingers help Nicolas remove his tie, shirt, shoes and pants. His underwear quickly follows. Ruby steps into his space and skirts her fingers down his chest. “Will that Talbot woman suffice?”

Nicolas hums thoughtfully and leans in towards Ruby, bending down to nuzzle at the side of her face. “She’s just right for the first part of the ceremony.”

“I’ll trust your judgment on that.”

Stepping apart, Ruby helped Nicolas to the kitchen in the old farmhouse. A metal table has been placed the center of the space. There’s a dagger, on the table, it’s handle carved from a bull’s horn, the scenes depicted anything but family friendly. Nicolas picks up the dagger and holds it behind his back.

“Bring Talbot.”

Ruby doesn’t say anything, just turns on her heel and complies, heading for the basement. Mind emptying, Nicolas hones his thoughts on what he must do, words in a language he hardly understands are repeated over and over. Purpose makes his bare skin tingle.

Muffled shouts float from the basement, but Nicolas ignores them and the creaking floorboards that follow. He turns to face the back door and the barn they have chosen to make their church for the night. Hooded figures are gathering towards it, their cloaks black. Lanterns and candles light the interior.

“Let me go!” Bela hollers, but it’s no good. The shackles on her ankles and wrists make escape impossible as Ruby hauls her through the house, each jerk causing the chains to jangle together. “Do you know who I am?!”

Neither Ruby or Nicolas answer Bela, as Ruby pulls through the house, protests falling from Bela freely. The farm’s isolated, so no one who can help hears her. The three of them head outside, following the last of the crowd entering the barn. Nicolas feels no vulnerability at his nakedness—he holds the dagger across his chest, the blade a diagonal line of promises he plans to keep.

“I won’t tell anyone!” Bela screams as Ruby drags her into the barn. Ruby leads the way, heading towards a throne that’s been set in the center, and a copper bath that sits in front of it.

“Hold her,” Nicolas orders.

Ruby shoves Bela over the bath, pulling on her hair and baring her neck.

Stepping beside the two, Nicolas holds the blade out towards Bela. He draws a breath and begins reciting the words for this first part of the ceremony. The Enochian words sound rough on his tongue, like they don’t belong there, but each word fills him with purpose. Reminds him that this is his destiny.

A stray thought leaves him wishing that his whole family is there in that barn, but he understands why Azazel can not be here. The sacrifice made by the man who raised him has managed to bring him this far. He will honor it.

“Please...” Bela begs.

 _This is for you_. Nicolas slashes the dagger across Bela’s neck, a burbling scream the last sound that Bela makes. Blood rushing into the tub, Nicolas continues to recite the words and places the dagger on the floor. Bela’s body jerks and kicks, but Ruby holds on, keeping Bela over the tub as her life drains away.

Nicolas climbs into the tub and sits in the pooling blood. He bathes, words still tumbling from his lips. Now he says in Enochian, “Here I bathe, and the blood of our enemy shall stain my skin and mark me as the hunter, the decider, the righteous...”

On and on he goes, until his hair is dripping and matted with Bela’s blood. When the words stop, Nicolas stands and climbs from the tub. Ruby lets Bela’s body slide to the barn floor and then she’s handed some red robes by one of the hooded figures.

Nicolas turns to Ruby and she helps him into his robes, the starched crimson fabric a mockery of the vestments worn by actual priests, in actual churches. The fabric settles against his skin, sticking to the blood there. A golden rope belt cinches the robes around his waist.

Turning to his family, Nicolas raises his hands, speaking in English to them. “Welcome. My family. My blood. Thank you for making your way here. The Rebirth shall happen here, this night. He will join and be with us. Our Lord. He will join us. He will cleanse us. He will glorify us. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him!”

“He will join us. He will cleanse us. He will glorify us. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him!” the hooded figures chant back. “He will join us. He will cleanse us. He will glorify us. You will receive him. You will praise him. You will accept him!” they repeat six times.

Letting out a long breath once there is quiet, Nicolas turns to Ruby. “Bring him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, no Sam this chapter. Next one is going to be mostly from his POV.
> 
> And Bela... I'm actually feeling a little sorry for her after all of this.
> 
> As ever, I'll see you in the comments.


	22. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for non-consensual touching and threats of non-con.

Cold heavy iron rests against Sam’s right ankle. The cuff has a padlock keeping it shut. His gaze keeps flicking to Bela. Her injuries do little to hide that she’s been there for a few days, skin lax and shallow, like the hasn’t eaten properly. An upturned metal cup a few feet away hints that her captor has been giving her water, but nothing more. There’s a bucket further away that has an obvious purpose—Sam breathes through his mouth.

A throb of pain spikes through Sam’s skull and he winces. _Suppose there’s no point in calling out for ice_ , Sam muses. He looks to Bela again, who’s watching him with an eye that suggests she’s taking in every detail—ready to transfer the experience to type as soon as she can. If they get out of this alive.

“How long?” Sam asks.

Bela’s eyes take a moment to focus on him. “Less than a week… I think.”

“Is it just Agent Hansom here?” Sam fiddles with the padlock on the cuff. There’s no give in the metal.

Licking her chapped lips, Bela thinks for a moment. “A woman. Dark brown hair and eyes… she normally brings me water… quite short… Ruby, that Hansom—is it—calls her.”

Hearing Ruby’s name and the description, Sam feels a tightness in his chest. He hasn’t seen her since his trip into Azazel’s clutches. Floorboards overhead creak and dust rains down. Sam can hear Ruby and Hansom talking, one voice higher than the other, but he can’t make out what’s being said.

Bela shifts and Sam spots her own chained cuff leading to another ring in the floor. She shuffles on her butt, getting closer to Sam, until there’s six feet between them, the limit of her chain.

“So, about that interview...” Bela gives a lopsided smile.

Sam turns his head away from her. “Not happening.”

“Shame… we have… so much to talk about. Like… why did these weirdos drag you here?”

“No idea. Like you said, they’re _weirdos_.”

Bela has no retort for that, but Sam’s sure that she’s thinking of something—anything to pry a response out of him. She always has questions for him, like needles she wants to stick into his skin and see which one bleeds first. Every meeting they’ve ever had, she’s tried to draw answers from him for questions he doesn’t want to answer. Before even the first album was released, and they had their first single out and were on their first tour—her “journalistic” interests had been bordering on obsessive.

_She always assumes the worst_ , Sam thinks as he prods at the padlock some more. And Sam will admit in his case, a lot of shit has gone down in his life, but that doesn’t mean it should be public knowledge. It’s bad enough they’ve had to divulge as much as they have about being raised by Bobby, but their fans don’t need to know about the fire in college, or what John drove Sam to do. Those are Sam’s stories to keep.

“Hmmm, I’ve been doing… a lot of thinking while I’ve been trapped down here… Y’know, I really… like the album art for _Root of Harmony_. Just something about… how you’re all _together_ in it,” Bela muses, voice hoarse.

Sam doesn’t respond. His eyes stay on the lock.

“You three just work so well _together_ … So, who _gets_ Castiel?”

Swallowing hard, Sam’s shoulders tense and his breath catches in his chest. He prays he doesn’t give anything away as he lets out a long exhale and tries to get some air into his lungs. His head feels light, but that could be from the knock he took. Sam breathes in and out with purpose, trying to keep the fluttering of his heart to himself.

“I mean,” Bela continues, “he clearly loves both of you… You can see it in his eyes. And so… protective. Fierce.”

_She can’t know. Can’t. No way. No. No. No._

With each theory she posits, Bela’s voice grows stronger. “Still, Dean’s got that protective streak too, hasn’t he?”

Sam can’t look at her. To do so would confirm everything that’s been slotting together in her head for the past few years.

“Can’t stand to see his brother hurt. Dean, in fact… can’t stand to be without you, can he? I mean, the three of you are inseparable, well… most of the time. Present circumstances notwithstanding.”

Drawing in each breath makes Sam’s chest ache. His world is about ready to fracture around him and crumble into a million pieces that he’ll never be able to stick back together again.

“But, I mean, who books hotel rooms and doesn’t even sleep in them? Three rooms. Only one is slept in. Strange.”

Cheeks going red, Sam’s will breaks and he looks up at Bela. She smiles again, shark like despite the injuries. Sam doesn’t want to be dealing with this right now, not when Hansom is going to do hell knows what with him.

“Anyway, must be nice, having two people in your life who are so… _invested_ in you.” Bela pushes some strands of hair out of her face and nods to herself. “Yes, must be lovely.”

The floorboards overhead creak more loudly and suddenly the door to the basement opens. Bela and Sam both look to the stairs, too far away for their chains to reach. Ruby creeps down and heads towards Bela.

“Time to go,” Ruby explains, pulling out a small ring of keys and a tazer.

Bela goes pale. “No, no. I like it fine here. The food and view’s great.”

Ruby unlocks the padlock on Bela’s cuff. “Oh sweetie, it’s time. You can’t stop this ride we’re on, so get up.” Standing straight, Ruby waits expectantly, tazer ready in case Bela or Sam try something.

“No.” Bela stays on the floor.

Ruby sighs, and then she grabs Bela by her long hair, yanking hard and harsh, dragging her across the floor. Sam flinches as Bela screams. His chain doesn’t stretch far enough for him to help.

“LET GO OF ME!” Bela shouts.

_I can’t just let her…_ Sam gets to his feet. He can’t bring himself to sink low enough to do nothing. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” Sam yells, trying to get as close as he can to Ruby and Bela. His cuff strains against his ankle.

“Or what, Sammy?” Ruby purrs. “What are you going to do?”

Mind going blank, Sam comes up with nothing, as Bela struggles against Ruby’s hold, trying to break free. Ruby backhands her and reduces Bela to sobbing, making her stand. They walk up the stairs and the door slams shut.

“Fuck.”

Sinking back to the floor, Sam looks at the padlock and then back around the basement. A naked bulb overhead brightly lights the basement, but its light doesn’t quite reach all the corners. There’s little in the basement, no real furniture to speak of.

Fear is slowly giving way to anger. He doesn’t know what he’ll do once he’s out of the cuff, but he’s going to get out of it. Getting on his hands and knees, Sam crawls along the poured concrete basement floor, looking for anything he might be able to use. Little clouds of dust rise up as he shimmies along, making Sam sneeze. He wipes his nose on his shoulder and continues looking for the glint of something he might be able to use.

Sam’s on his second circuit when he catches sight of what looks like a discarded paper clip. Crawling towards it, Sam’s chain suddenly draws tight and won’t let him move any further.

“Oh for...” Sam lies down flat on his stomach and stretches across the floor. His shoulders and elbows pop as he stretches. Body quaking with the effort, Sam’s right fingers brush against the cool metal and he starts to drag the paper clip closer until it’s in his hand.

Trying not to imagine what might be happening with Bela, Sam remains on his stomach, scouting for anything else he might use. A rusty nail is nearby, so he grabs that too. Sam shuffles back a little before scooting up into a sitting position. He uses the nail to help him unwind and snap the paper clip, and then he starts work on the padlock.

The pins keep dropping as Sam tries to keep them up so the lock turns. Hands shaking, Sam struggles to focus on the padlock rather than thinking about what might be happening to Bela, or what might happen to him. Bela screaming as she has her throat cut keeps popping into Sam’s head, and he has to keep shoving the image down.

_She might still be alive_ , Sam thinks as he does his best to calm his hands and mind. Trying a different level of pressure, Sam manages to finally balance the pins just so with the halves of paper clip. The lock pops open and Sam quickly works the cuff off of his ankle. Sam brings the paper clip pieces and the nail with him as he heads up the stairs.

Gently pressing his ear to the peeling wooden door, Sam listens for any sign of talking or movement on the other side. There’s nothing. The basement door is locked, but Sam makes quick work of the lock and softly opens the door. The door hinges creak as Sam pulls the door towards him.

It’s dark in what he assumes is the kitchen, but through a dirty window Sam can see a barn. There’s a soft glow coming from between the slats. _They must be there, must be_. Sam puts the paper clip pieces in his pocket, and then slides the nail between his right pointer finger and middle finger. It’s not quite a knuckle duster, but it’ll help him take out any one who gets in his way.

Realizing he’s on a farm, Sam wonders how far away he is from help. The place looks like it’s seen better days. The farm house and outbuildings are all peeling paint, warped wood and rusted hinges. And the barn that has light coming from it isn’t much better.

He should try to get away, but Sam can’t ignore the feeling in his gut that Bela is in that barn and that he should help her, or at least try to. It would be easy to leave her, but Sam would never forgive himself for at least not trying.

Slowly walking up to the barn, Sam hears a strange chanting going on. The words make no sense to him—he doesn’t recognize the language, but he can tell it’s Hansom saying the words.

A tingle runs down Sam’s spine and the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The air shifts beside him and Sam spins out of the way just as a hooded figure reaches out for him. Sam dances out of the figure’s grasp while slashing his right fist through the air. His fist connects with the hooded figure’s face and they grunt, blood spilling across Sam’s hand, and the figure falls to the ground.

Sam crouches down and pulls back the figure’s hood and checks the man’s pulse. He doesn’t recognize whoever it is, but they’re still breathing. Satisfied no one else is coming, Sam stands up and finishes creeping up on the barn.

Lining up with a gap between the slats on the barn side, Sam’s stomach churns and quivers as he watches what’s happening inside. He can see more hooded black figures bathed in candle and lantern light. And in the center of it all, in front of a throne, is Hansom and Ruby with Bela. Only Bela doesn’t look so alive anymore. Body limp in Ruby’s arms, lifeblood in a tub and dripping down Hansom as he bathes in it—Bela is dead.

Backing away from the barn, Sam looks for a road or track that might take him away from the madness inside that place. Stepping quickly across the farm yard, Sam heads for a series of ruts that look like a trail a tractor use to take. And then a hand snatches out from the darkness and grabs him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the figure hisses, his voice deep and annoyed.

Sam can’t place who this person is, but he struggles against the man’s hold and tries to punch him. But the guy just dodges Sam’s fist and elbows him hard in the stomach. Sam drops the nail. The wind is knocked from Sam and he can’t help but be dragged back towards the barn.

Hazy with pain, Sam looks up to see Ruby as the barn doors open, light spilling out.

“Tut, tut, it’s time for the main event, and your our star, Sammy. You need to stay put.” Ruby steps out of the way as Sam’s bodily pulled into the barn.

He feels dozens of eyes fall on him as he’s yanked towards the throne. Hansom is sat upon it, smiling down at him.

It’s almost as if a dagger is poised over Sam’s head, ready to plunge into him and take his life away. Whether that’s figurative or literal, Sam’s poor lizard brain can’t figure out as it forces his feet to drag, trying to stop him from being brought closer, but the hooded figure has a strong grip.

“Sam,” Hansom greets, smile surreal with its frame of sticky drying blood. His voice is almost reverent in tone. “It is time.”

Sucking in a breath, Sam tries to look Hansom in the eye. “Time for what? Kinda in the dark here.”

The smile turns into a predatory grin, and Hansom steps down from the throne. Hansom gets in Sam’s space, breath hot over Sam’s face as he takes hold of Sam. Hands clamp down over Sam’s biceps, vice like, making Sam wince.

“You’re the final part in this puzzle. It’s been a long time coming.” Hansom leans in closer, bloody lips almost on Sam’s skin as he whispers in his ear, “We’re the same, you and me. Destined for great things, despite our parents not being in our lives.”

Sam wants to recoil from Hansom’s bloody mess, but he can’t break away from his hold. The coppery tang of Bela’s blood fills Sam’s nostrils and makes his stomach clench. Hansom smells like death.

“We… aren’t the same,” Sam manages to push out.

“Oh we are. And we will be, once the ceremony is finished.” Hansom leans in and licks Sam’s right ear. Sam shivers. “We are one and the same. We will bring Lucifer to this world. To cleanse and reward as needed.”

Sam swallows, mouth dry. “And what’s the ceremony?”

“It’s simple,” Hansom nuzzles at the side of Sam’s neck. “You take me in. In mind, body and spirit.”

Acid rises to the back of Sam’s throat. “ _Take_?”

“Oh, Sam, don’t make me spell it out in such crude words, please. This is sacred.”

“I still don’t get what you’re getting at.”

“Fine.” Hansom pulls back and gives Sam another unsettling grin. “You drain me of all my blood while riding me. Slurping down every last drop.”

Sam wants to throw up. He quietly belches.

“And once you’ve done that. _He_ will come. _Lucifer_ will be within you and this world will be saved. Such as it can be saved.”

Thoughts swinging between, _this is the most fucking fucked up fucking shit I have ever heard,_ to _how the fuck do I stop this,_ to _how the fuck can they believe this shit,_ Sam tries to back away from Hansom, but his grip is strong. Sam doesn’t want this going any further—it’s already gone too far.

_Maybe if I just… close my eyes, it’ll all go away. I’ll wake up back on the tour bus, heading out of New York. There won’t be some decaying teddy bear on Dean’s bunk. We’ll just be heading on our way… Please let this be a dream._ Sam shivers and shakes, fear sliding down his spine like ice.

“Now—”

Thunder roars in Sam’s ears and he’s shoved aside, sprawling to the barn floor. Screams erupt and Sam looks up to Hansom—the right shoulder of his robe looks redder than the other shoulder and there’s a paleness to the man’s skin that says he’s been shot. Hansom staggers away from Sam, bringing up a dagger.

“SAM!” Dean yells.

Sam rolls onto his side, trying to find his feet in the confusion as the robed figures flee the barn. Hansom staggers away from Sam. Finding his feet, Sam stands up and looks around to see Cas and Dean at the front of the barn. Hansom is staggering towards them.

“YOU’RE TOO EARLY!” Hansom roars. “THE KNIGHTS ARE NOT FOR THIS PART!”

“STOP!” Dean shouts at Hansom. “DAMNIT, SMITH, STOP!” Dean yells, hands shaking.

_Smith?_ Sam quirks an eyebrow as he tries to make his way round to Cas and Dean.

“STOP!” Dean repeats, but Hansom/Smith keeps walking. Dean can’t get a clear shot of their least favorite maniac, because his hands are now shaking too much.

Castiel eases the pearl handled handgun out of Dean’s hand and points it at Smith. “STOP SMITH!” Cas shouts. “Or I will shoot!”

Instead of stopping, Smith continues to stagger towards Cas and Dean, dagger pointing towards them. Sam watches as time slows and Cas lines up his shot. He’s as methodical as he is when he plays the drums or pool. Arms bent just right, focus just so—Cas squeezes the trigger and Sam’s ears feel like a small bomb has gone off.

Smith/Hansom jerks back from the force of the bullet and drops the dagger. Turning to look at Sam, Hansom gives Sam a look that says “why?” and crumples to the floor like a sack of flour sack that’s been sliced open.

There’s no robed figures left in the barn. The three of them wait a minute before Dean finally steps over to Hansom’s body. He checks for a pulse. “Dead,” Dean declares and stands up quickly, backing up towards Sam and Cas again.

“IN HERE!” shouts a familiar female voice.

Sam turns to the barn door just as Sheriff Jody Mills storms in with a posse of local cops.

The three of them are ignored as the team sweep through the barn, checking every nook and cranny. Calls of “Clear!” fill the air and finally Jody approaches the three of them.

Jody takes a look at the gun, but doesn’t say anything as she pulls out an evidence bag, takes the gun from Cas and places it in the bag. Then finally she seems to notice Hansom’s corpse on the floor, and kneels beside it to check for a pulse.

“He’s dead.” Jody gets to her feet and that’s when Sam falls against Cas.

Sam’s loud sobs fill the air, relief finally washing over him as he clings to Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a chapter (maybe two) left to go. I am trying to get this finished before New Year's Eve.


	23. In Sight

Hiding that his hands are shaking, Special Agent Victor Henriksen, checks over Agent Hansom’s—or rather, if Animus were to be believed—Nicolas Smith’s body. Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak were good shots. _No doubt about it_.

The barn looks weird flooded with lights that the Sheriff’s office brought in. There’s straw on the floor and the throne is a sickly tarnished gold as it oversees everything. All of the candles and lanterns are out now. Bela Talbot’s body has been removed, there’s just Smith left.

Special Agent Abner is discussing the crime scene with Sheriff Jody Mills, while Agent Scott is listening in, obviously using the whole case as an opportunity to learn something. Henriksen can’t blame her—even though this shit is as weird as fuck, it’s the kind of thing that can make your career in the FBI, or at least open up pathways for becoming a Special Agent.

Forensics are just about done with Smith’s body—if that was his real name—and Victor is almost done looking him over. He holds up one of the photos he got from Smith’s apartment back in Chicago, looks at the young blond haired boy in the old Polaroid and then at Smith’s corpse.

Their chins match. Henriksen’s about 99 percent sure that the kid and Smith are the same person. _But Agent Hansom is a real person too,_ and that part is giving Henriksen the bigger headache. Abner managed to track down records on Hansom: his first few Illinois driving licenses before he enrolled at the FBI Academy in Quantico, after practicing law for two years. Even his old college IDs. His senior year book from high school—everything before his first year at the FBI Academy.

How anyone had missed that James Reginald Hansom was not the guy who enrolled at Quantico, is the part that Henriksen is pained by the most. But the paper trail is convincing: at some point Smith starts switching out Hansom’s photos and takes over his life. And having seen Bela Talbot, Henriksen has a pretty good idea as to what really happened to James Hansom.

Victor scratches at his three day old scruff and straightens up. He waves at one of the forensic techs, and two guys from the coroner enter the barn. Heading over to Abner, Mills and Scott, Henriksen does his best to try and bring his thoughts into some semblance of order.

“Sorry to interpret,” Henriksen starts as the other three reach a natural pause, “but I think we’ve got everything we’re going to get from here. The search teams looking for Ruby could do with our input.”

Henriksen lets out a long breath. “You got eyes on Singer Salvage?” That’s directed at Sheriff Mills and Agent Scott.

Mills nods. “Yep. The place is locked down.”

“Further reinforcements from highway patrol are helping with the search for Ruby,” Scott adds. “We’ve rounded up the people who were still on the premises when we reached it. They’re currently being processed in Sioux Falls.”

“Great. Okay, well Special Agent Abner, Agent Scott and I are going to join the patrol-”

“Could I just have a quick word?” Mills asks Henriksen.

“Sure.” Henriksen turns to Abner. “Could you both wait for me in the car?”

“See you in a minute.” Abner stalks out of the barn and Scott follows after him.

Sheriff Mills smiles politely at Henriksen. “Look… About Dean and Castiel...”

A nervous chuckle works its way out of Henriksen and he takes a breath to calm himself. “Justifiable homicide, right? I don’t think anyone is going to want to prosecute those two over Smith’s, Hansom’s death… Not when the whole Smith-Hansom thing is… and I probably shouldn’t be sharing this with you...”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“But this whole thing is about to become one major clusterfuck for the FBI. Hansom _wasn’t_ Agent Hansom.”

“Oh hell.”

“So sure, do the paperwork you need to, but uh...”

“Far as I see it… Under, I think, 22-16-34 of state legislature, both of the boys had a right to stop the murder of themselves and Sam. Hansom... Smith—was approaching them with a dagger, intent clear, still after Dean shot him once.

“I heard Dean and Castiel warning him before the fatal shots were fired. And I believe them when they said Smith had that dagger on him. There’s already a dead journalist in that rub before all of that, and I bet you that forensics is going to find her blood on Smith.” Mills casts a wary glance towards the tub and throne.

Henriksen nods and scratches at the hair on his cheeks again. “No public prosecutor is gonna want to touch this.”

“Agreed.”

“So like I said, do the paperwork you need to. Take statements. But I don’t think anyone’s going to come for them.”

Mills lets out a long breath and nods. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet—Ruby’s still out there.”

***

Castiel is on Sam’s left side and Dean is on Sam’s right. They’re cuddling in bed. It’s gone 3 am, and Charlie and Bobby are still chatting away downstairs in the kitchen. No one can sleep. Too wired, even after giving statements, with a lawyer at their side. Occasionally there’s a glowing orb of light shining on the other side of the bedroom blinds—the deputies who are patrolling Singer Salvage. (Rufus is getting some shuteye in his and Benny’s trailer.)

A part of Castiel can’t believe what he had done only five or six hours ago. That he had killed another human being. But then he sees again how Smith had hold of Sam, of what was left of Bela in the tub, and Castiel knows he did the right thing.

“I… I love you. Both of you.” Sam shakes between them. These are his first words since giving his statement.

Pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek, as Dean does the same on the other side, the two of them utter almost the same words. Every stroke and kiss is to ground Sam, to reassure him that he’s home and safe. That nothing bad is going to happen to him. It feels almost inadequate, that all they can do is hold Sam and touch him. Castiel wishes he could just touch his finger to Sam’s forehead and take away every single bad thing that’s ever happened to Sam.

Everything. _But then he wouldn’t be Sam…_ Cas muses as he thinks about all the things that’s shaped his lover. Would he still love the Sam he would be if none of the badness in his life had happened? _We would have never met if he’d had a home with his parents_. Castiel sighs, curling up close to Sam’s side. _Still… I’d rather he felt safe in this world. That he didn’t bear the scars of all that’s happened._

“Damn, Cas, I hear the gears going round,” Dean mutters, snuggling closer to Sam. “How about you lay off and we all try to get some sleep, huh?”

Cas huffs a laugh and hooks his legs with Sam and Dean’s. “Right. Sleep.”

It seems like Charlie and Bobby have the same idea. Just as Castiel starts to drift off, he hears the back porch door open and close, and then Bobby making his way up the stairs. Sam and Dean fall asleep before Castiel, breaths evening out soon after Bobby heads to bed. And then Cas finally follows them, drifting into fitful dreams, one after the other about him losing Sam or Dean.

Smith’s face haunts all of his dreams.

***

“Mmmm, smells good, Winchester,” Charlie greets. She sits down at the kitchen table, looking like she got about as much sleep as Dean—more than four, but definitely not six.

“Good thing I made extra, hmmm?” Dean plates up the pancakes he’s been cooking in the pan and points to Charlie to come and get them.

“You are a saint.”

Floorboards overhead creek, the coffee maker sizzles and drips, and one of the deputies outside is calling in on their radio. There’s already a Thermos flask beside the coffee maker filled with hot coffee, along with a stack of camping cups.

Dean puts more cake batter in the pan and calls to Charlie, “Yo, take the Thermos out of the deputies before you start digging in.”

“Sure.” Charlie gets up from the table and picks up the flask and cups.

“Thanks.”

Charlie winks at Dean before stepping out the back porch for a moment. Dean continues to cook pancakes. The oven’s on to help him keep the stack warm. He’s pretty sure Sam and Cas will make an appearance soon, and Bobby, eventually. But Dean just couldn’t stay in bed any longer. It was a miracle he managed to sleep until 8 am.

He’s full of nervous energy that he needs to direct into something productive—like feeding the entire house. Dean wishes they were ready to move on with building the house already, and insurance be damned, he just wants to use his hands. With Ruby at large, no one wants them leaving Bobby’s for now, which isn’t helping Dean feel any less stir crazy.

_Okay, maybe some quality time with Sam and Cas would make things feel better, but there’s no way we can be quiet enough while surrounded by cops._ Dean sighs out a long breath, willing back any further thoughts on what he might do if the house weren’t being watched.

Soon enough the rest of the house is awake and the deputies who have been patrolling all night take it turns to come in for pancakes, each one grateful for Dean’s hospitality. Sam, Cas, Bobby and Charlie are sat at the table, eating and drinking coffee while Dean finishes cooking.

“Hey, Dean, isn’t it?” asks a male deputy who’s just come into the kitchen.

Dean grins and nods as he plates up some pancakes for the guy on a paper plate. “Sure is.”

“Just wanted to say that my little sister is a huge fan of you guys. And uh… I was wondering if maybe I could bring by something later for all three of you to sign?” The deputy looks away, cheeks reddening. Whether the autographs are for this little sister or the deputy, Dean’s not gonna push. Either way it’s flattering.

“Yeah, we’d be happy to.” Dean hands the deputy his plate of pancakes. “Syrup, napkins, forks are on the side. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.” The deputy gives Dean a warm smile, goes over to the syrup and other supplies, and then heads on out to eat.

Finally, Dean gets his own stack of pancakes together, and slots in between Sam and Bobby at the table. A tension that Dean didn’t know he’d been holding in his shoulders slowly ebbs away as Sam knocks his knee into Dean’s. The contact a sweet reminder that his brother his alive and safe again. Sam relaxes down in his seat, slipping a little lower than Dean for once.

“Hey...” Cas starts, he’s looking through emails on his Blackberry in-between taking mouthfuls of syrupy cake. “Gabriel and Balthazar are heading over this afternoon.”

“Couldn’t they wait a day?” Dean asks as he covers his pancakes in raspberry syrup.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean catches Cas shaking his head. “It’s not like what happened last night can be kept out of the press. They want to create a statement, with some guidance from Agent Henriksen, if possible, seeing as one suspect is still at large.” Cas looks up from his Blackberry.

“Fine. Just…”

“It’s fine, Dean. Honest.” Sam looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and bangs. “I’d rather we got the right story out there. Y’know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean stuffs a mouthful of cake into his mouth, chews and swallows. “Well, suppose we might be able to sort out what the hell to do with the rest of the tour.”

“Exactly,” Cas agrees. He sets the Blackberry down and goes about cutting up his pancakes. “And I’m sure Balthazar and Gabriel will give us the time we need to get ready for touring again. Plus, we won’t be going anywhere until our voices have finished recovering.”

Exhaling slowly, Dean nods. “Good point.” Dean had grown use to the extra huskiness of his, Sam’s and Castiel’s voices, but he’s constantly reminded it isn’t normal for them when he starts to really listen to them talk.

Finishing his pancakes quickly, Dean chugs down his coffee and gets up. He stacks his dishes beside the sink, then turns to Cas and Sam. “I’m gonna go do some work on the Impala.” He feels a little guilty about how they’d treated her the night before.

“I was gonna ring up the hospital and see how Benny’s doing.” Sam sets down his knife and fork.

“Let me know when you know anything, yeah?” Dean turns to head out.

“Dean!” Cas calls.

Dean turns round again.

“I’ll join you once the dishes are done.”

“Sure.” Dean turns around again and heads out. The need to do something driving him towards the car, which is already sat in one of Bobby’s garages.

***

Suds covering his arms almost up to his elbows, Cas washes up the dishes they dirtied this morning and the ones they failed to wash the night before. Sam’s in the living room, talking on his cell to Benny. Charlie and Bobby are in Bobby’s study, going over permit applications for the house.

Every moment Castiel tries to relax, he tenses up again, remembering that Ruby is still out there somewhere. He’s assuming no one’s found her yet, because he’s pretty sure that Jody would send word if she’d been caught.

It takes a bit of effort, but slowly Cas empties his head of thought and just focuses on the dishes. He’s never really enjoyed washing dishes, but there’s something to be said for ensuring every surface is free of food and sparkling clean. And a few things need a little elbow grease, but that just means Cas can focus on the physicality of the activity rather than anything else.

“Benny’s coming out this afternoon,” Sam says from behind Cas, making him jump and drop the pan he was scrubbing.

A wave of water splashes over the edge of the sink, soaking the floor and Castiel’s jeans.

“Ooops, sorry!” Sam apologizes, grabbing drying cloths to help mop up the water and suds. He puts a few cloths on the floor to soak up the water, and then starts dabbing at the water on Castiel’s jeans.

“It’s fine, Sam. I’ll go change,” Cas starts. But then Sam looks up at him from where he’s kneeling on the floor, and there’s this look in his eyes. Hungry.

“Cas...” Sam huffs out, then leans in and nuzzles against Castiel’s crotch, hands snaking up to hold onto Castiel’s hips.

“Sam...” Cas whispers, voice reverent as Sam frees a hand, pulls down the zipper of Castiel’s flies and unhooks the button at the top. Wasting no time, Sam gets Castiel’s quickly hardening cock out of his jeans and underwear, and starts to lick and suck at the tip.

“Sam...” Cas whimpers now, hips shaking a little as he stays upright by holding the side of the sink in a vice like grip.

Humming as he sucks and twirls his tongue, Sam goes to hold the base of Castiel’s cock in his right hand, while holding onto Castiel’s hip with his left hand. The second Castiel’s hard enough, Sam slides his mouth down Castiel’s cock and takes him as far as he can, letting Cas brush the back of his throat.

Castiel lets Sam control the depth and the speed he goes, mouth and throat working Cas over at a sweet teasing speed. The warm wetness of Sam makes Castiel curl his toes in his boots. He shudders and jitters, body straining to not just fuck into Sam’s mouth. But he can’t do that right now—he needs to let Sam have as much agency as possible. So Castiel savors Sam’s gift instead.

It’s a small miracle no one walks into the kitchen as Sam blows Cas. But as sparks of delight light up through Castiel’s body, he does his best not to make too much noise, using his free hand to cover his own mouth, as he bites down on his fist.

Sam’s making desperate little moans as he works his mouth up and down Castiel’s length, hips rutting at the air. Castiel watches the blissful expression on Sam’s face, eyes closed as he swallows Cas down over and over.

It’s perfect. Castiel comes, stifling his shout with his fist. Sam shudders around him as he sucks down Castiel’s load. Then before Cas can gather his thoughts enough to say anything, Sam’s tucked him away and zipped him up and has bolted out the porch door.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Cas follows after Sam, one thought going around and around in Castiel’s head: _He didn’t swallow…_

Castiel follows Sam into the garage that Dean’s been working on the Impala in. Out of view of the doorway, Sam’s got Dean bunched up in a corner as they exchange open mouth kisses, and Castiel’s release, hands in each other’s pants as they rub themselves to their own orgasms, crying into each other’s mouths. Cas feels his own cock stirring again at the sight.

***

“I think we got this,” Gabriel announces, looking down at the notepad on his lap. Sam can’t quite see the scribbles on the page, but they’ve been hashing out a statement for the past hour. Sam’s sat on a couch between Dean and Cas, wishing he was back out in the garage.

Sarah Blake, their lawyer who had been with them as they gave their witness statements the night before, reaches out to Gabriel and he hands her the notebook. She brushes a strand of long dark hair behind her ear as she reads over the heavily noted document, and strikes out a couple of things before adding her own notes.

“I agree.” Sarah passes the notepad back to Gabriel.

“Alright, we’ll get this typed up, run it by Henriksen, and then we should be good to go.”

“If you no longer need my services, I’ll head out.” Sarah stood up, smoothing out her gray skirt suit.

“We’re good. Thanks Sarah.” Gabriel stands and shakes her hand.

There’s silence as Sarah leaves and then Gabriel gives Balthazar an expectant look.

“Right,” Balthazar rubs a hand through his already ruffled hair. Sam notes their manager has definitely seen better days. “The plan is, so long as no one decides to bring charges in the next four weeks, you’ll be heading back on tour at the start of October.”

_Right, because a prosecutor might still come for Dean or Cas_. Sam tries not to feel worried, but he is.

“Ahem, about that,” a familiar voice calls from the doorway. Special Agent Henriksen steps into the living room and leans against a bookcase. “The attorney general has said that the state will not be pressing charges. Your lawyer’s office has just been sent that in writing.”

The air in the living room shifts, and Sam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. Something is going their way.

Gabriel and Balthazar look dumbfounded for a second and then school their expressions to their usual professionalism, or near enough.

“Thank you so much for letting us know, but that can’t just be why you’re here?” Gabriel prompts.

“Yeah, I have some photos I need Sam to look over a minute.” Henriksen gestures towards the kitchen. “If you have a moment?”

Sam swallows and nods. He gets up from the couch, missing the press of Dean and Cas the instant he stands up, and follows Henriksen into the kitchen.

Henriksen opens up a folder he had already put on the table and points at a series of what appear to be surveillance photos. “Is this woman Ruby?”

Sam had provided a description of Ruby, and a sketch artist had worked with him, but he understood the need to be sure. Looking closely at the photos, Sam knew he was looking at Ruby. She’d done little to disguise herself, only wearing a pair of shades as she entered what looked like an apartment complex.

“That’s her.” Sam points at the top photo. “That’s definitely Ruby.”

Henriksen pulls out his cell and just as he’s about to hit dial when it starts ringing in his hand. He gives Sam a confused look and then stands away as he takes the call.

“What?! Are you sure?”

Sam can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he waits beside the kitchen table.

“Right… well see if you can find the shooter. I’ll be there in ten.” Henriksen hangs up and grabs the photos, stuffing them back inside their folder. “Gotta head out. Please stay here until the FBI or the Sheriff’s department give you the all clear, understood?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Without further word, Henriksen storms out of the house and Sam heads back into the living room.

“What was that all about?” Dean asks.

“I think they’ve found Ruby.”

***

“C’mon, back towards the window. C’mon...” John mutters to himself. The sight on his sniper rifle has a clear line to the apartment Ruby has set up shop in. There’s no one else with her, other than the idiot she’s been talking to on a cell for the past thirty minutes. It’s unpleasantly hot on top of the roof John’s on, but he ignores the sweat trickling along his back.

Finally, Ruby slinks behind the living room window again, pausing long enough for John to line up his shot. He doesn’t care that the woman in his sights is too young to have been responsible for the death of his wife all those years ago. What he cares about is taking out the trash that’s helped to put his sons through hell.

As far as John’s concerned, a courtroom is too good for this woman.

Ruby’s still on her cell, talking. Still in John’s sight.

If he does this, if he takes the shot, he won’t be able to ever see his sons again. Even knowing what they are—the idea of never being able to see them again steeps a sadness within John’s heart. He hesitates, risks loosing his shot.

John lets out a long breath, trying to calm himself. A life on the road hasn’t really been a life. A life on the run will clearly be even less so, and John is starting to realize this as he follows Ruby’s movements.

Ruby starts to shout down the cell, fury writ clear on her face as she screams and yells. John has no idea who she’s talking with. As far as John can tell, she is the last of the upper hierarchy of The Rebirth. There can’t be anyone else left. _Perhaps she’s looking to leave the country and it’s not going her way…_ John speculates.

Each passing second grows doubt in John’s mind. Revenge burns deep, but reason is slowly taking over. He could never accept what Dean and Sam are to each other, but to write himself out of their lives completely— _I can’t do it_.

Hanging up, Ruby stares at the cell in her hand.

John lines up a new target. Rather than Ruby’s head, her right hand is now in John’s sights. He settles his breathing, and stills himself. John fires one shot.

Ruby’s hand explodes in a shower of bone, muscle, skin and blood.

Pulling out the foam ear protectors he had in, John stuffs them in his pants pocket as he quickly strips his sniper rifle, grabs the spent shell, and bungs everything in the sports bag he brought with him. John’s ready to leave the roof in under thirty seconds.

John climbs down a ladder, leather gloves stopping the metal sides burning his skin as he slides down the last few rungs. He sprints to a fire escape and heads down it, sirens already heading towards him. Reaching the alley behind the building, he heads to a manhole cover, lifts it up and climbs in. John pushes the cover back into place and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there is just one more chapter to go. Just one more.
> 
> Oh fudge.
> 
> I can't believe we're almost there.


	24. Bring It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say some more in the end notes...
> 
> But I just wanna say now: thank you for reading and joining me on this journey.
> 
> There's some cute art in this chapter, commissioned from [sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/) \- it's fucking fantastic, and I am so happy to have it in this fic.

_** ** _

_**Four months later… Christmas Eve, 2006** _

Snow floats down to the ground in little eddies. Everything is already white outside Bobby’s house, including the foundations for Dean, Castiel and Sam’s new home. Their tour finished only a week ago and they were greeted by this change in weather as soon as they started heading back towards South Dakota. Perfect for Christmas, crap for building.

Dean kicks at a snow drift around the foundations for what will be the kitchen in their new place. He’s bundled up in a thick, down quilted jacket, along with a woolen hat that Cas made him wear and a pair of fleece lined gloves. It’s pure chance he doesn’t have a pair of hole ridden jeans on and actually has on a new pair that he was given as an early Christmas present by Bobby, because all the jeans Dean seems to own these days have holes in them.

Stalking around the foundations a little more, Dean wonders when they can get the walls up. They’re actually paying for brick rather than just timber, but it’s been too cold to get anyone out brick laying yet.

The back porch door opens. “Hey, get your ass back inside before you freeze, you idjit,” Bobby yells.

Not wanting to get in Bobby’s bad books on Christmas Eve, Dean turns and carefully picks his way back towards the house. Inside, he slips out of his jacket, hat, gloves and boots, and heads for the living room, which has got a roaring fire burning merrily in its fireplace.

Bobby’s sat back down in his favorite, worn armchair, a book about trout fishing in his hands and a bottle of beer on a small coffee table beside him. Cas and Sam are cuddling on the couch, watching the start of _A New Hope_. They’ve each got a glass of eggnog on a coffee table in front of them.

“There any eggnog left?” Dean asks.

“Kitchen,” Sam replies, glancing up at Dean with a drink warmed blush on his cheeks.

“Gotcha.” Dean turns and heads bag. He fixes himself up a glass, making it a little extra punchy and heads back in. He sits down next to Castiel and cuddles up, taking occasional sips of his drink.

Dean’s just getting comfy when there’s a little whimper from the side of the couch.

“Sounds like someone’s awake,” Sam coos, getting up and heading around the couch.

Before Dean realizes he’s doing it, he’s standing and putting his drink down. Castiel gets up behind him as well.

There’s a fond “idjits” from Bobby’s corner as Dean and Cas crowd around the warm little lump now cradled in a blanket, in Sam’s arms.

Little “Sugar”, a black Labrador puppy, gives a yawn and leans up to lick Sam’s chin. Dean in the process tries not to die from some form of cuteness overload. It’s tough, but he just about manages.

“Okay, I’m just gonna see if Sugar has any business to do, and then we’ll be back,” Sam announces.

Dean watches Sam and his new ball of fluff walk off towards the back door, and Dean tries to ignore the sense of fear that curls in his gut. He reminds himself that The Rebirth are all in prison, awaiting trial—there’s no one left to hurt them. And any would have to get past all the security upgrades Benny and Rudy made to Singer Salvage.

That and Sam now knows how to throw a guy across a room. Still, Dean heads into the kitchen and keeps an eye on proceedings as Sam shuffles around in unlaced boots and his own down filled jacket. Sugar’s an excited blur of fuzz as she bounces around the snow, before settling down to do her business. Sam bags it and puts it in the trash outside. They’d tried to get her to use a litter box when the snow had come in earnest, but it had to be a blizzard to convince her to use it.

Dean makes himself look busy as Sam and Sugar head back into the house. There’s some dishes that need drying so he concentrates on those. He hears Sam use the sink in the downstairs restroom, but he focuses on the dishes.

“Thought you’d be watching A New Hope still,” Sam points out as he comes in, hangs his jacket up and toes off his boots. Sugar wiggles and sniffs excitedly beside Sam, and then yips, asking to be picked up again. Sam bends over and scoops up the dark haired Labrador and cuddles Sugar against his chest again, blanket in tow.

Dean shrugs. “Seen it enough times.”

“Uh-huh, well I’m heading back in.”

“Sure, be there in a sec.”

Sam wanders back to the living room and Dean continues to dry dishes, keeping up the act that he was there of his own volition and not due to (reasonably well founded) paranoia. There’s not much for him to dry and soon it’s all put away.

Walking in like it is no big deal, Dean sits down on the couch beside Cas again, who’s got Sugar on his lap. He picks up his eggnog and turns his attention back to the TV, ignoring the one question that keeps going around his head: _When’s it gonna feel safe again?_

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cas whispers. Sam’s attention is completely on the film and Bobby is buried in his book.

Raking a hand through his hair, Dean tries to gather himself together. He taps his right foot nervously. It’s not the first time they’ve had a conversation like the one Dean wants, but he finds it hard to talk about himself and how vulnerable he feels.

“You can tell me anything,” Cas reassures, keeping his voice low.

“Just… I can’t believe we’re here… that we’re safe.” Dean lets out a long breath. “Finishing the tour was one thing, but, I mean—nothing’s happened since the summer, I should be feeling fine. But I can’t shake the feeling that, y’know, something’s gonna happen.”

Dean sneaks a glance over at Sam, but his brother’s fallen asleep, head lolling against the back of the couch. He looks adorable.

Cas strokes along Sugar’s back and the puppy slowly joins Sam, eyes closing as she falls asleep. The expression on Castiel’s face is thoughtful.

“I hear what you’re saying. And I would be surprised if you weren’t feeling any of this. But that’s okay—it’s okay to feel like this, Dean. Even I do now and then.” Cas gently kisses Dean’s cheek. “It’s going to take some time, maybe even a bit of talking with a psychiatrist, but we will heal.”

Dean nods and turns to give Cas a kiss on the cheek. _Just give it time, Winchester. Give it time..._

***

_**Christmas Day, 2006** _

“Fuuuuuck...” Castiel breathes out. Dean’s tight around him and Sam, slowly lowering and rising himself as the rides both of their cocks. They’d woken up to Dean fingering himself open.

They’re on the shoved together beds at a diagonal, Castiel’s head near the headboards, Sam’s head towards the foot of one bed. Dean’s facing Cas, thighs shaking as he takes both of them.

Sweat beads Dean’s forehead as he works himself, taking care as he moves. It had taken a while to get Dean prepped, but Castiel had enjoyed watching Sam helping get to this point, by eating Dean’s ass out.

They’re trying to keep the noise down, but it’s tough when you have Dean speared on two cocks, face looking like he’s experiencing pure bliss: mouth open and eyes glazed, needy whimpers falling. And he’s sharing it with Cas and Sam— _so perfect._

“God, Dean...” Sam says, voice wrecked, “you look so good taking both of us.”

“Stuffed with both of our cocks—you’re amazing Dean,” Cas says, voice husky.

Dean moans in reply.

Wrapping his left hand around Sam’s right leg, Castiel tries to anchor himself, not wanting to come just yet, but it’s difficult. The tight heat of Dean and the pressure of Sam’s length is an agonizing tease that is making every nerve ending in his body cry for him to finally let go.

“Can I… please...” Dean whimpers, eyes begging.

Dean’s been so good these past few days, Castiel easily says, “Yes, come for us, Dean.”

“Fuuuuuuuck!” Dean gasps, coming, hole clenching down around Cas and Sam, the extra squeeze doing enough to make Cas and Sam both spill their loads inside Dean, whimpering incoherently as they do. Castiel’s breath catches in his chest as he comes, vision whiting out, head spinning.

It takes a minute for them all to get with it enough to disentangle, Dean leans on Castiel as he slips off Sam and Cas as they soften. Cas sees him wincing, but it’s to be expected. As soon as they’re free, Sam rolls off the bed and grabs a worn t-shirt, and cleans them up. A bottle of water is handed to Dean and the three of them cuddle together as they catch their breath.

Lying there, wondering how long they have until they need to make their way to the Roadhouse for Christmas dinner, Castiel feels a sense of contentment beyond anything he’s ever experienced. There are worries still niggling distantly at the back of his mind, but laid out on the bed with Dean and Sam? Castiel feels at peace. They might have a third album to write in the New Year, and then a potential European tour, but Cas is sure that so long as Dean and Sam are in his life—he’ll be ready for all of it.

The stairs outside the bedroom creek and there’s a knock at the door. “One of you idjits needs to take Sugar out. I ain’t freezing my balls off for yer pup,” Bobby calls through the door, and then he retreats back down the stairs.

“Fine, fine,” Sam grumbles, but Castiel knows he’s not really upset. He loves that dog too much. Sam climbs off the bed, throws on some clothes and socks, and kisses Dean and Cas.

“Probably time to get up anyway.” Sam sighs.

“I’ll take the first shower,” Dean announces.

Castiel quirks an eyebrow as he turns to look at Dean. “If you use all of the hot water...”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh god, I am out of here.” Sam ducks out of the bedroom.

“Yes it is, Dean. If you use all of the hot water, you will have to wait until tomorrow to open your Christmas presents.”

Dean gives Cas a wide eyed look. “You’re serious?”

“One hundred percent, and you’ll be caged.”

“Oh for… Alright, geez. No fair.” Dean gets up and grabs a robe. “I’ll leave some hot water.”

Wrapping the robe around himself, Dean warily eyes Cas one more time before leaving. With both brothers gone, Cas takes a moment to fully stretch out across the beds, seeing if he can reach the corners. _Not quite_ , Castiel chuckles to himself and then rolls off the bed. He heads to their wardrobe and starts picking out his outfit for the day—usual blue plaid, plain blue t-shirt, stonewash jeans, underwear—and does a couple of stretches to work out the tight muscles from their athletic morning fuck.

The morning passes in a blur of getting ready. Last minute presents that were forgotten are wrapped and bundled into boxes to take down to the Roadhouse. Bobby makes them all eat some cereal, because he doesn’t want anyone drinking eggnog on an empty stomach. It’s nearing noon by the time the four of them, plus Sugar, are driving out in the only car of Bobby’s collection that has snow tires on—an old Cadillac that has seen better days.

Castiel imagines the shock of any of their fans if they saw them riding around in this vehicle. While they do have more cash than they have ever had before, they haven’t been fast to spend it, instead allowing accountants and financial managers to make investments, and manage savings for them. The band has no desire to be penniless once fame fades, but they have enough to dote a little on the people in their lives. _It would be nice to buy Bobby a new car, I’ll have a word with Dean and Sam later._

They reach the Roadhouse and Castiel marvels at the lights peeking out from the light dusting of snow that covers the exterior of the bar. There’s a sign on the door saying the bar’s closed for a private gathering, but several cars in the lot suggest that the rest of the day’s guests are already inside.

“Looks like everyone else is already here,” Bobby muses, breath misting in the cold. He locks the Cadillac and leads the way.

A blast of heat hits them as they walk in and Sugar barks happily in Sam’s arms. They’re swamped within seconds, surrounded by Benny, Rudy, Meg, Garth, Ellen, Jo, Jody, Charlie and Gilda (Charlie’s new girlfriend).

It’s overwhelming, but beautiful at the same time to be greeted by so many people who care about them.

“Hey, now, I’ve been told that before we can continue, you guys have gotta open this,” Benny greets, holding out something larger than a film poster, wrapped in Christmas wrap.

Castiel shares a look with Dean and Sam, voiceless agreement passing through them. “Sure,” Cas says, taking the gift from Benny.

The three of them work to tear the paper off, Sugar pawing at it as she hangs in Sam’s arms. It takes a bit of doing, there’s a lot of tape, but finally the gift is revealed.

A blush creeps up Castiel’s cheeks. It’s their front cover debut on _Rolling Stone_ , assless chaps and all, set beside the open pages of their interview—all framed.

“It’s perfect,” Sam announces, voice giddy with happiness.

Dean smirks. “Oh man, how is this cover even legal?”

“This is a thoughtful gift,” Castiel half-mumbles, trying to hide his embarrassment.

_We are never living this down_.

***

_**Christmas Day, continued…** _

“I don’t know why you’re looking up at me like that. You’re the one who made it clear you had some business to do.” Sam rubs his mitten covered hands together and bunches his shoulders up inside his jacket to keep out the cold.

Sugar barks at Sam, tail wagging so much her butt is moving with it. Her new, little Santa red doggy sweater slides down towards her head.

“It’s snow. Same as at Bobby’s.”

Sugar snorts and turns around, stepping a bit further away from Sam, plenty of slack left on her leash. The sweater slips back into a more warming position. There’s actually less snow out the back of the Roadhouse, and Sam has a bag ready to scoop up anything that Sugar may deposit.

Keeping an eye on his puppy and another on his surroundings, Sam patiently waits as Sugar explores, gently pulling him further away from the Roadhouse and closer to the tree line that surrounds the rear of the bar.

Pines dusted with snow, Christmas card perfect. The simple beauty of it all has Sam on edge rather than tension leaving his body. He looks behind him, back towards the bar, but there’s no one watching him from the kitchen windows, that he can see. Something just doesn’t feel right.

He turns back and Sugar’s done, her attention now on a bunch of empty kegs that will be collected after Christmas. Sam scoops up Sugar’s poop in a bag and throws it in with the general trash out back. The two of them head inside and Sam washes his hands in the kitchen.

“You alright, Sam?” Ellen calls as Jo mixes something in a bowl nearby.

“Uh… yeah?” Sam ducks out of the kitchen before anyone can ask anything else.

The old bar jukebox has been playing a mix of Christmas tunes and classic rock. Just as Sam steps back in with the Sugar, the opening notes to Led Zeppelin's “Immigrant Song” start to play. Dean catches Sam’s eye and grins happily, he holds a beer bottle out for Sam.

Sugar insists on being picked up again, nose bopping Sam’s leg repeatedly, followed by whining, so he scoops her up and grabs his beer from Dean.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks after a swig of beer.

“Um,” Sam sips his beer and shrugs, “just felt a bit… I don’t know. Something didn’t feel right out back.”

A concerned look comes down over Dean’s face. He puts his beer down and quickly turns to Cas, Benny and Rudy, who are deep in a discussion about season one of _House_.

“Benny, Rudy, mind coming with me to check out back a minute,” Dean asks.

“I’m coming,” Cas says, putting his drink down.

Part of Sam thinks the four of them are overreacting as they troop out to the back of the Roadhouse. Charlie, Gilda and Meg wander over to Sam as he’s left with Sugar and his beer.

“What’s the story, morning glory?” Meg takes a sip of something that looks and smells like coke mixed with rum.

“Probably nothing.” Sam plays with the neck of his beer bottle.

“Everything alright?” Jody asks, coming to a stop beside Sam.

“The guys just headed out back,” Charlie explains.

“Think I might do the same.” Jody stalks off.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Sam calls after her, while staying put.

“C’mon, Sam, join us by the tree,” Charlie offers, and three hands end up on Sam’s back as he’s steered to one of the tables set by the massive, real, Christmas tree that’s dominating Ellen’s bar.

Sam sits down in a chair and Sugar snuffles against his chest, seemingly already tired out by the excitement. The smells from the kitchen have filled the bar, and Sam’s starting to finally feel hungry. There’s still a little while to go before the food’s done, but someone had said something about opening the rest of the presents once Sam and Sugar returned.

“WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!” shouts a male voice that Sam does not recognize. Sam’s head whips up and Sugar yelps.

There’s footsteps approaching from the back and the Roadhouse posse emerges, Jody pushing a cuffed man in front of her. He’s short, has wiry gray hair and beard, a black winter jacket, snow boots, winter trousers and a beanie, woolen black gloves, and a look about him that just says “utter dick”.

Sam still might be new to fame, compared to someone like Anthony Kiedis, but he knows paparazzi when he sees them. He looks away from the stranger to Benny, who’s holding a camera with a telescopic lens on it.

Jody pulls out a cellphone and keeps a tight hold on the stranger as she dials a number. “Hey, Rogers, yeah. Can someone swing by the Roadhouse asap for a pickup? Thanks.” She hangs up and then drags the stranger down to near the front door and forces him to sit down.

Cas and Dean come over to Sam; Benny and Rudy stay by Jody and the guy. Bobby wanders over to Jody and regards the stranger.

“What’d he do?”

Jody crosses her arms and glares at the stranger. “Trespassing and attempted assault of an officer.”

The guy stays quiet, seeming to realize that talking without a lawyer present would probably not be a good idea right now. Or at least that’s what Sam assumes, until the guy pouts and starts yelling again.

“I’m performing a public service!”

“You were trespassing on Terrence Braff’s land by being in those trees.” Jody takes the camera from Benny. “And you took a swing at me.” Jody looks out the window beside the door. “Ride’s here.”

The stranger’s escorted out and Sam feels himself relax.

“Who was the guy?” Dean asks Rudy.

“Marv Stevens. Runs that website that Bela Talbot was a part of. Seemed to think today’s celebrations were worth gatecrashing.” Rudy grabs the glass of soda he’d been drinking before heading out. “Had a bunch of photos of you and Sugar out back. Nothing terrible.”

_But it could have been worse_. Sam slumps in his seat and Sugar whines, seeming to pick up on his dropping mood. Sugar licks Sam’s cheek and he chuckles.

“Price of fame,” Sam muses, stroking Sugar’s head. Being interviewed for Rolling Stone versus being stalked by some garbage writing asshole are two different things.

“Well,” Charlie starts, “shame about his website.” She gets up from her seat and Gilda follows after her. The two women head towards a pile of coats and bags, and pretty quickly, Charlie’s got her laptop out and is connecting it up to Ellen’s internet.

“Should we stop her?” Dean asks as he brings more drinks over.

Castiel shakes his head. “She knows how to fly under the radar. Just don’t tell the FBI.”

Meg laughs and takes a glass of scotch off the tray. “We’ll have more of that kinda crap if you guys head over for that European tour next year.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam catches sight of the their Rolling Stone cover. They look awesome. Like they’re ready to take on the world—and also incredibly sexy. Animus have survived crazy cults, dodgy tacos (don’t ask), and releasing that tricky second album. Sam smiles.

“Bring it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK, GUYS!
> 
> I finished it! And before midnight (I said I was gonna end this before 2018, and I'm managing it, just).
> 
> It's been over a year since I started this journey, after a conversation with angrysouffle [around this piece of fan art](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/140513977927/fan-art-by-sweetdari).
> 
> I wouldn't say how I've written this is how I would write it now if I was starting all over, having learned what I have along the way. But I love this piece of self-indulgent AU fun. This is the longest fanfic I've written by myself that wasn't reader-insert - and I am proud of it for that.
> 
> In case you've been wondering, The Rebirth is loosely based on the whole Red John thing in The Mentalist TV series. I've not pointed out this before, because damn I loved keeping you all surprised - and boy were you guys surprised by the twists in this. Said twists do not hold any semblance to The Mentalist... well... not much really. Those who have watched the show will know which parts.
> 
> Animus itself is based super loosely on Muse, ripping on many of their songs. (I do plan to sometime try and fully construct the songs featured in this fic and add a chapter featuring them as an appendix, but that is a ways away.) In fact, really, if Animus were a real band, they're the kind of band I would listen to.
> 
> You've all been fantastic leaving comments on this as I write. majesticduxk, chocolatedragon, Hermit9, Coconutice22, cr0wgrrl, Margaretkate84, HollyBlue2, give_it_a_little_nudge, Xilu82, Ibelieve333 and many more I'm missing - thank you so much for your words. They've meant a lot to me. Those comments helped drive me on, even in those long posting gaps. Gaps mostly caused by me taking part in big bangs (which I'm only writing in about two for in 2018, waaaaaay fewer than this year).
> 
> This universe isn't finished. I'm gonna admit that now. **If you wanna be sure to catch the next part** , either:
> 
> \- [subscribe to me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books)
> 
> Or
> 
> \- [subscribe to the Root of Harmony series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/781944) (psst, there's one timestamp in there already you might not have read, about Animus's first date)
> 
> (I offer no promises for when that might start. I am starting a new job in under two days, and it's a big fucking deal for me - new industry, new role, bigger company, bigger everything - so I don't know yet what my writing time is going to be like based on that... And because I am going to be working on original fiction in 2018 as well.)
> 
>  
> 
> **Thank you for reading.**
> 
>  
> 
> You can reblog this story on Tumblr via [this link](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/169161036350/animusfanfic).
> 
> As ever, you can find me chilling on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com). You can also find me on Twitter at [dreamsftbunker](https://twitter.com/dreamsftbunker).

**Author's Note:**

> Helpful feedback and comments welcome. Please don't forget to slip me some Kudos ;)


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